#alright. what can my takeaways be?

[methylphenidatedreams]

In my dream last night there was this collection of old comic books and they were like super old fashioned and yellowing and they were about a version of Jason who had first become robin while living in this orphanage/boarding school/academy. He had a few misadventures before meeting Batman, including one where he saved a baby Waylon Jones, and another where he got in trouble but managed to escape but not before Dick heard of it so then Jason had to go BACK and save him because they were both having a ‘I need to save the civilian’ moment. I should have noticed it was a dream because it had a 70s era Dick in the same comic as a Jason who I wouldn’t be surprised if he came from the Golden Age, but the real anachronism was that Batgirl Steph drawn in the 2000s BoP style appeared and she was like time traveling I guess? And then I also had comics about Red Hood Jason helping out Steph and like putting a blanket over her when she went to bed and no actually the weird thing that should have woken me up was that I was showing these things to actual Robin Jason from the 80s and he was not surprised that he was a comic book character he was just nodding along as a showed him.

[bruhstories]

Bet II

p.1 here & p3. here & p.4 here & p.5 here & p.6 here

summary: it's your first day as a cat sitter and things are going more than well. but will they stay that way? pairing: hwang in-ho/the front man x civilian!reader warnings & content: age gap, afab!reader, slightly detailed descriptions of reader’s background for plot purposes, red text for in-ho, purple for reader, pre 33rd squid game, canon divergent, mentions of domestic violence, veeeery slow burn, reader is an orphan w/c: 2.2k

a/n: hiii, this is pretty much reader's pov, but don't worry, we'll see things through in-ho's eyes in chapter 3! if you would like to be tagged for the next part, please check this post.

You woke up at five in the morning on the first day of your temporary job. It took you about fifteen minutes to walk to the bus stop, and another fifteen to get to Gangnam-gu by bus, but you needed to prepare breakfast for your uncle first. The last thing you wanted was to anger him. You washed a cup of rice and tossed it in the rice cooker before slicing some pickled radish and a fresh cucumber and carrot. While waiting for the rice to cook, you fried some tofu that you had marinated in gochujang the night before.

Around six you woke your uncle up with the bowl of bibimbap and a cup of freshly brewed coffee, but didn't stay long enough to hear him tell you off about how bad his coffee tasted, or how cold the rice was, all completely false statements. It was just the way your life was since your father passed away and your mother left the country. But you couldn't afford your own place, and you probably wouldn't any time soon, so you took odd jobs to stay away from him and pay his stupid debts.

You made it just in time for Eunjoo's breakfast, stepping through the door at 6:50. There was no cat in sight yet, but the moment you opened the food can, Eunjoo peeked from around the sofa, silently sneaking behind you, apprehensive about rubbing against your leg. She waited next to the water bowl as you scooped the food out and mashed it with the spoon, then bent down to place her plate on the silicone mat on the floor. 

It was only after you got back up that you noticed the mess in Mr. Hwang's penthouse. There were so many dishes in the sink, empty bottles of beer scattered on the dining table, an ashtray full of cigarette butts, takeaway boxes stacked on the countertop, a half-full coffee cup, tissues on the floor. You definitely remembered that his house was clean when you first visited him. Too clean, even, like he suffered from mysophobia. You had a lot to do in that house. And then there was Eunjoo, who, for some reason, refused to eat her breakfast despite sitting patiently next to her ceramic plate, tail curled around her paws.

Panic seeped into your veins as you urged the cat to eat, crouching next to her in hopes that she only needed a little encouragement, but Eunjoo stood her ground. You didn't know what to do, the mess was overwhelming and you frantically paced around the kitchen like a headless hen, not knowing what to do first — wash the dishes, take out the trash, force feed the cat. As though Mr. Hwang could see you, your phone vibrated with a text from him.

Good morning. Sorry about the mess, I had a little gathering last night before my trip. Is everything alright? In-ho 

A little gathering? He had a full-blown party! Maybe it was his birthday, or he had a bachelor party. But the mess wasn't important, Eunjoo was. You quickly saved his number in your contacts list and typed a reply.

Morning! Don't worry about the mess, I'll deal with it later. Eunjoo's not eating, though. Should I take her to the vet? She seems healthy, but I’m worrying.

You waited for his text while sitting on the floor, one hand extended for the cat to sniff it. She did, then went back to her plate, simply looking at you, staring directly into your soul with bright green eyes.

Ding!

Oh, I forgot to mention that she only eats breakfast and dinner when I do. You're going to have to eat something. There's plenty of food in the fridge. 

Well, that changed things. You typically had one meal a day since most of the food back home was eaten by your uncle, and you didn't want to pry into Mr. Hwang's fridge and pantry. Rummaging through your backpack, you found a half-eaten bag of shrimp crackers and shrugged. It was good enough for you if it meant she ate.

"My food." You told Eunjoo while holding the bag, giving it a small shake. "Your food." You pointed at her plate.

As if she could understand your words, Eunjoo turned to her breakfast while you munched on the crackers, nibbling on them slowly to save some for later. God only knew when you could have some more food. When her plate was empty, you twisted the bag of remaining snacks and put it back into your backpack before getting up from the tiled floor. 

"Okay." You told yourself. "First thing's first — scoop the poop."

There were two litter boxes in the penthouse, one in the guest bathroom and one in the en-suite. You checked both without paying much attention to your surroundings, and threw away all the clumps of pee and litter, then turned the TV on to play some music. You started off strong with some upbeat songs, a little rock, a bit of pop. Your father raised you on international music. Queen, in particular, was his favourite band, and so your playlist was full of their songs.

Don't Stop Me Now was perfect for doing the dishes. First, you put away all the dry plates and cutlery before emptying the sink. You didn't even bother trying to turn on the dishwasher, your hands worked better and faster, and with the speed of light, like Freddie Mercury sang, you finished washing all the dishes. Each time you rinsed a plate, you turned the tap off, careful not to waste any water. If there was one good thing about not being rich, it was that you learned to truly care about the environment, and tried your best to fight climate change. But you weren’t perfect. No one was. There were skeletons in your closet.

As the song came to an end, you tackled the takeaway boxes. You found the bin and threw away any leftover bits of food that were inedible, saving the cardboard boxes for recycling, along with the beer bottles. The penthouse was looking better by the minute, and after wiping the table and countertop, vacuuming and mopping the floor, you took your phone out and snapped a picture for Mr. Hwang. 

Kitchen and dining room done!

You pressed send and checked the time — 9:00. Shit, your other job was starting soon. Hastily, you turned the TV off, rinsed Eunjoo's water bowl and filled it with fresh water before checking the automatic feeder. It was still half-full, so you put your shoes on and left with the recyclables and trash bag.

"I'll be back tonight, kitty!"

The bin room was easy to find, and satisfied with the work you did, you went back to Guryong Village, where you taught Ali Abdul and his wife Korean. They couldn't afford to pay you, but when they could, they fed you, and that was all that mattered. It was the only meal you didn't need to share with your uncle, and it was more than enough to keep you going through the day. 

At 12:00 you took two buses to Lotte World, where you worked part-time as a mascot, from one to seven, boiling in the purple bear suit. You didn't mind it when you saw how happy the children were, though. Their smiles and happiness mattered more than how uncomfortable you felt, and on the bright side, it kept you very warm in winter. You had to look for positives, didn't you? Life wouldn't be enjoyable if all you did was focus on the negativity and unfairness of it. And life had been nothing but cruel to you. Yet, you persevered. 

You left the theme park at 7:15 and took the bus back to Gangnam-gu, drenched in sweat. The cold November air made you shiver under the coat as you stepped down the street, making your way to Mr. Hwang's penthouse for the second time that day. Kicking your shoes off, you kept the coat, because the apartment was chilly, and you tried to find the thermostat before feeding Eunjoo. 

Good evening! I hope your trip is going well! It's getting quite cold and I was wondering if I could turn the heating on, more for Eunjoo than for me. 

When there was no reply, you shrugged and opened a can of food, placing the plate on the mat, like you did in the morning, then took out a food container from your bag with leftover chicken karahi from Mrs. Abdul. She was kind enough to give you more, and you took out a plate from Mr. Hwang's kitchen to heat it in the microwave.

Eunjoo ate when you did, as she did in the morning, and you found it interesting that she didn't immediately dig in like your cousin's cat used to do. She had good manners, you thought with a smile. The food warmed you up a bit, and you washed the plate and chopsticks after you were done, but the warmth was soon replaced by a chill running down your spine. You had to start layering up for winter.

Ding!

Good evening, miss. My apologies for not replying quicker, work is hectic. Please turn the heating on and stay the night to make sure Eunjoo is warm.

Oh, that was straightforward. You chuckled at the text, but you couldn't stay the night. Instead, you walked back to the thermostat and searched the brand online to set a timer. You tested it first to make sure it worked, and when it did, you set the heating on every 3 hours. It should be enough for Eunjoo to stay warm. 

I appreciate it, sir, but I can't stay over. My uncle would be upset. I put the timer on and it works, I checked. I'll send you a picture after I scoop the poop and tidy up.

You sent the text and inspected the litter boxes. Eunjoo had the stinkiest poops you had ever sniffed, and as you scooped it out of the box, you couldn't help but talk to her. She was watching you from the corner of the guest bathroom, pupils blown at every movement you made, studying you.

"Girl, this is foul." You laughed, tying up the small bin bag. "Is it even normal for your shit to reek like this?" 

Eunjoo lost interest in you when you were done with her box and ran under the bed in Mr. Hwang's bedroom, while you walked back into the kitchen, dropping the bin bag next to your shoes. You filled a tall glass with water and searched for all the plants in the house, stopping at a small cactus in the living room.

When was the last time you watered the cactus?

Ding!

You got the reply quicker than you expected. It usually took In-ho a few minutes to get back to you, but you read it and laughed.

I don't remember. 

Typical for men to forget, you thought as you watered the plant. 

Ding!

Another text? You took your phone out and read it.

Why would your uncle be upset?

The question soured your mood, and you took a few steps back to sit on the edge of the sofa. It wasn't a subject you liked to talk about. In fact, it was a subject you refused to talk about, but Mr. Hwang had been nothing but kind to you, and you felt like you owed him an explanation. No, you felt compelled to give him an explanation, as though you couldn’t just tell him to mind his business.

He took me in after my dad died. He can be quite strict. It's not that I have to go back home, but if he doesn't have breakfast and a coffee when he wakes up, he'll tell me off.

Okay, so you didn't exactly explain your situation. Mr. Hwang didn't need to know all the details, all the beatings and all the insults, all the money he took from you to pay his debts. But hey, at least you had a roof over your head, right?

You washed Eunjoo's plate and water bowl and left them to dry while sorting out In-ho's laundry — whites with whites, blacks with blacks. There weren’t many colourful clothes, which you thought was normal for a man his age.  You were going to wash them in the morning, but you worked smart and hard, and so you wanted them to be ready for the next day. Loading the machine with the whites, you made sure Eunjoo didn't sneak in it and closed the door, then took a shower in the guest bathroom. 

Just as you promised, you brought your own soap and towel, and let the hot water wash away the dirt and dust accumulated throughout the day. It felt good not having to boil water to wash yourself, and you made a mental note to thank Mr. Hwang somehow when he returned from his trip. Perhaps you could cook him a meal and buy a new toy for Eunjoo, although she didn’t seem very playful, at least not when you were around. Stepping out of the bathroom with the towel wrapped around your body, you took a moment to enjoy being able to walk around half-naked with no one to disturb you. 

Thank you for letting me take a shower. Eunjoo is sleeping, the plants have been watered, and I’m ready to go home. Good night, Mr. Hwang!

tagging: @ri1liane @anmert1 @syraxnyra @frshluvcats @lanyia @mettreads @nightdark-dreamdark @bridge-always @nomugglesallowed @awekbachira @hobiesbrowngf @lovekm @audrey223 @ririgy @starkeyszn @thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry @maria-trisha @akiqvq @10hrs26mn @tenzko @okaycharr @politicstanner @moonxknightx @googie-jeon @swthrtbyeol @mariiestfu @ratsnestinmyhair

i hope i didn't miss anyone or tagged the wrong people lmaooo

[luveline]

hiya there! can I request remus having an autistic gf and her finally being comfortable stimming and unmasking around him? 🙏🏻 thank you

“I love that movie, I love Scooby-Doo.” 

Remus hums. “I don’t mind it.” 

“With the escape ball and– and when Scooby draws the bunny?” You grin. “It always makes me laugh.” 

“I like the frisbee flashback.” 

“That’s the first one.” 

“Is it?” Remus takes a sip of his coffee, a white chocolate mocha, barely any coffee at all. 

“I don’t know.” You laugh. Remus likes how it tumbles from you, unabashed, your hands drifting towards your chest. You’ve slumped with time into the cushions of the coffee shop’s patchwork sofa, a thigh of space between you and Remus filled with your purse, his wallet, and his longing. 

You start to squeeze your hand into a fist. You’re still smiling. Remus has to compute the event quickly, lest he ask if you’re okay and make a fool of himself. You’re fine, just excited to be having a laugh, and this is what happens. He resists the urge to clench his own fist as yours rolls in and out of itself like a flower, blooming and un-blooming, taking in the sun, heat of your chest, and closing again. You squeeze again and Remus remembers it’s his turn to talk. 

“Did you watch the cartoons?” he asks. 

“I did! Yes! The cartoon movies were the best.” 

Remus is sure you’d let him kiss you if he asked politely enough, but you’re so busy trying to learn everything about one another that there hasn’t been time. Genuinely. He’s ditching a lecture to be here now, wondering if he can persuade you into calling in sick from work tonight just ‘cos he wants to see you that little bit longer. 

“If you skip work, we can watch the Cyber Chase. I have the DVD.” 

Your hand squeezes, and when you let it go, you force your fingers straight. Then, gentle, you begin tapping the base of your neck like a feigned pulse. “Really, you do?” 

“Buy you a takeaway and everything.” 

The noise you make in response is almost silent. Lips pressed together, eyes alight, it’s a happy hum. He’s so happy he caused it that he reaches over the mess on the sofa to hold your resting wrist. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah. But if you’re buying food then I’m buying the popcorn before we go. There’s a CostCutters by your flat, right?” 

He follows down your wrist to your hand. It’s restless, but not moving into tight balls like the other one. “Yeah. Or we can go to a proper shop and get some kernels, I have a pan with a lid and real butter, we can make it ourselves. I’ll make caramel, too, if you want.” 

Remus doesn’t think it’s the popcorn that’s exciting you —though popcorn can be quite interesting on an otherwise mundane Monday night— but instead assumes it to be the same thing that has his heart skipping beats, the diminishing gap between you. The inch of your knee pressing into his. 

“It’s the second film, with the frisbee,” you say suddenly. “You’re right, it’s when they have to go to the original clubhouse.” 

You squeeze your hand into a fist again, worrying the neck of your t-shirt. Remus rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, weighing the idea of asking you if you’re alright against how that might kill the mood. Eventually, he brings his own hand to his neck and squeezes it shut. “You okay?” he asks softly, just so you know he doesn’t mind. 

Your hand relaxes. Voice similarly soft, eyes a sugary shade he has yet to have seen before, “I’m just happy,” you say. “Being with you.” 

He plays with your fingers, shyness half-feigned and half embarrassingly real. “I like it, too. It’s exactly why you should come over.” 

“I thought I should tell you that, in case I take back my hand or something and it gives you a different impression. I’m just happier when I get to choose what’s happening sometimes.” You smile, and Remus knows he’s trusted. “But I guess you figured that out.” 

He strokes your ring finger, his eyes squinting gently as he returns your smile. 

[moonstruckme]

hi lovely!! if you're comfortable writing something like this, could I maybe request poly!marauders where reader who is normally very independent but gets submissive at times, but not in a sexual way? like she just gets overwhelmed and wants the boys to be in charge for a while, but maybe the relationship is still new and she feels too needy and can't bring herself to tell them and eventually they realize?

again, no worries if you're not comfortable writing this, just thought I'd ask <3

Thank you for requesting gorgeous !

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“This is deeply, atrociously unjust,” Sirius says as James sits down in front of you, him on the floor and you on the couch. He’s wet and fresh-smelling from the shower. “You never let me do your hair.” 

“Because you always act like you’re trying to tear it out as some sort of twisted revenge plot,” says James, passing you a brush and the curl cream you and Sirius had found for him. Normally, you adore this routine, the chance to run your fingers through James’ hair and the way his eyes close blissfully while you do it. You love to pamper him. But tonight you’re not really in the mood. You do it because he expects you to, coating his curls in product with your usual tenderness but wishing you were on the receiving end of it instead. “She’s got the touch of an angel.” 

Sirius crosses his arms. He’s leaned against the side of the couch, leering over you like a vulture. Remus is reading in the armchair, and though he’s pretending to ignore all of you, the corner of his mouth tilts up. 

“Beauty is pain,” Sirius grouses.

“We should start a hair train,” James decides. “She’ll do mine, you can do hers, Remus will do yours, and I’ll do his.” 

Sirius seems to be considering this. You lean down towards James’ ear. “You’re throwing me to the wolves,” you stage-whisper. 

“It’s you or me, sweetheart.” 

Actually, the idea of Sirius playing with your hair—even at the risk of losing a good amount of it—doesn’t sound so awful. 

“I can get in the shower right now,” you offer, only half joking. 

Sirius lets a grin slip loose, sitting next to you to plant a smacker on your cheek. “Thank you, darling, but that’s alright. You shouldn’t have to atone for his mistakes.” 

You return his smile, doing your best to bury your disappointment.

“I didn’t consent to the hair train either,” Remus says without looking up from his book. “There’s a reason James doesn’t do his own hair.” 

“Oi,” James objects. “I’ve got admirers fighting over the opportunity to do my hair, why would I do it myself?” 

Remus marks his page, flipping the book closed. “What are we having for dinner?” he asks. 

“I don’t know, but I’m famished.” James doesn’t miss a beat, latching onto the new topic eagerly. “We could order takeaway?” 

“Or just cut out the middleman and go out,” Sirius says. “Unless someone feels like cooking? Which I don’t.” 

“We know,” Remus teases. “I don’t either, not tonight.” 

“I could if I needed to,” James says, “but I’m alright with whatever gets food in me the fastest.” 

They all look to you. “I don’t much feel like cooking,” you add your piece. Your voice comes out quieter than you’d intended.

“Alright,” Remus says. “Then let’s not cook tonight. What do you want to do, love? Go out or stay in?” 

You comb the brush slowly through James’ hair, twisting to define his curls. “I don’t know,” you say. 

Sirius turns to you, frowning. “Come on, baby.” He bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “What do you feel like having?” 

“I don’t know.” You try not to sigh. “Um, can you pick?”

You don’t look up from the top of James’ head, but you can feel them exchanging looks. They’ve all been a little extra gentle with you lately. They know you’re dealing with a lot. Anytime you try to tally it all up and make sense of it in your head, you start feeling like you could cry. Your exhaustion has sunk so deeply within you that it’s seeped into your bloodstream. You think by now there’s got to be traces of it in the marrow of your bones. 

“Hey,” Sirius says softly. “Look at me.” 

You do, pausing with the brush held aloft over James’ head. He’s got his eyebrows drawn together like he’s trying to figure you out. “I’m sorry,” you say. It’s not your boyfriends’ faults that you’re feeling overwhelmed; you don’t mean to drag them down with you. 

“What for, sweetness?” He sets a hand on your thigh, rings biting into your skin as he gives the flesh a loving squeeze. “Just tell us what you need.” 

You try to give him a smile. You really do love him. “I want…I don’t know, I guess I’m just tired. I want to not think for a little while.” 

Sirius’ eyebrows come up a bit in the middle, and James turns around from below you. 

“Aw, sweetheart.” His tone is as gooey and sweet as raw honey. “Do you just want us to take care of you, angel?” He sets his hands on your knees, pushing himself up to kiss your chin. “You should’ve said something.” 

“We can stay in,” Remus suggests whilst James worms his way underneath you, getting you in his lap. “Order takeaway from that Thai place you like.” 

“That sounds nice,” you say meekly, face growing warm. James presses rapid-fire kisses to your cheek. One-two-three. 

“You wanna have a shower, baby?” Sirius asks you. He looks heart-wrenchingly concerned. It’s not like you to want to give away control like this. “I could do your hair when you get out.” 

“Don’t do it,” James cautions you. “He steals our hair to make tiny dolls of us, I’m sure of it.” 

Sirius sends him a withering look. “I’ll be gentle.” 

“I’d like that,” you tell Sirius, and he softens. 

“Yeah?” He brushes a piece of hair away from your face and presses his hand to your cheek. Squishy fond. “Okay, baby, we’ll pamper you to hell and back.” 

“I’m going to find the menu for takeaway,” Remus says, prying himself up from his chair. 

“James,” Sirius says, not particularly kindly, “you will have to let her go for her to shower.” 

“Never. Not on my life. Not at gunpoint.” You shrink as James makes his face at home in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, nose nudging at a ticklish spot. “She’s my darling sweetheart angel.” 

“She’s our darling sweetheart angel,” Remus corrects him from the kitchen. You think your face could melt titanium. 

“James, please,” you complain. “I’m never telling you all anything again.”

“Careful.” Sirius raises an eyebrow at you, mock stern. “That sounded dangerously close to a thought, and those won’t be allowed until at least tomorrow morning.”

[medeasgirl]

Softly

pair: kate bishop x reader

summary: you come home after a long shift to find kate at your door again, injured. you do all you can to patch her up, but that’s not all that’s wrong.

note: nothing graphic in this one! just some barely there angst, and a fluffy ending. reader’s a bit oblivious in this one. i love kate bishop so much, and this is my first time posting something on this blog, but there’ll be a lot more to come! requests are open <3

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

It was past midnight when you arrived home, soaked from the rain, and kicked your shoes off with a sigh. It was miserable out, the storm brewing over the city had left the streets slick and especially dangerous, which hadn’t helped your shift at the hospital.

Your cat, Dante, purrs loudly from where he’s curled up on the couch. You mumble a greeting, stripping out of your coat. Your shift was especially tiring today, and you grab a carton of yesterday’s takeaway before joining Dante on the couch, turning on the news. They detail a shootout in the city, not far away from your place, and you furrow your brow as they play the footage. Is that—?

There’s a series of desperate knocks on your door, and you put your takeout down mournfully, leaving the news on. You have a sinking feeling in your chest as you open the door and double take.

“I- sorry,” Kate pants. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” You take her in, hair disheveled, her purple suit stained with deep red at her stomach…

“Jesus, Kate,” you rasp and pull her inside. You know the drill by now. It’s not the first time she’s come to you. Though, this is the first time she’s taken a bullet to her side, and she winces as you tug her out of the doorway. You round on her. “That was you at that shootout, wasn’t it? What do you think—”

“Please,” Kate whines. “Save it for later?” Her vision is swimming, and everything feels a little fuzzy around the edges. She clutches at your kitchen counter with bloody hands, and you rush to her, suddenly afraid she might collapse.

“Shit,” you mumble to yourself, scrambling for the first aid kits you’ve learned to keep since a superhero decided to start crashing at your place after missions. “Don’t know why you keep coming to me,” you huff, grabbing wrap bandages. Kate grins through the pain.

“You’re a nurse,” she reasons, lowering herself down to the floor with a groan. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, instead helping her to the ground. Dante the cat meows interestedly.

“Nurse in training,” you amend, shooing him away. “Can you take that off?”

Kate blinks and looks down at her suit. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, hold on.” She winces as she reaches back for the zipper and you grab her wrist quickly, stopping her before she hurts herself more.

“Alright, I’d better do that,” you say quickly, trying to hide the flush rising on your cheeks. You were able to remain professional in situations like this every day, so why was it that Kate Bishop rendered you useless? Granted she was pretty, really pretty, even when she was bleeding on your kitchen floor.

You unzip her suit carefully, down to the hip, revealing her toned stomach, littered with bruises, and her purple sports bra. You fight off a smile at the color. “Is that fine?” you ask shakily.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Is it bad?” You look down at her side, and prepare yourself for the worst. You press down lightly on the wound, and she bites back a whimper, her nails coming up to press into the skin of your arm. You murmur a soft apology, but breathe a sigh of relief when you assess the wound, noting that it’s not that deep.

“Just a scratch. Bled a lot, which is scary, but it’s not deep. Should heal just fine,” you press a finger to her chest lightly. “You got lucky.”

Kate smiles weakly. “I did, didn’t I?” she murmurs, looking at you in a way that is entirely too earnest. You feel your heart beating out of your chest and look down, away from her, fighting a blush.

You clean her wound in silence, only interrupted by the faint sounds of Dante’s paws against the tile and soft purrs. It might be domestic, in any other situation. You can feel Kate’s gaze on you, soft and genuine, and you can’t stop the warmth that bubbles in your chest.

“This might hurt,” you say softly, unscrewing the little tube of antibiotic ointment. You spread it with as gentle of a touch as you can manage, but Kate still hisses in pain. She grabs your arm. You shush her gently.

“Shit,” she laughs nervously, not removing her hand from your arm, instead squeezing softly. You finish quickly, making a show of putting the ointment away.

“It’s done,” you promise. “I just have to wrap it now.”

She breathes shakily. “Sorry for bleeding all over your kitchen,” she jokes, but it comes out weak, and tired. You wonder how much sleep she’s gotten.

You unspool the bandages, smiling in spite of yourself. “You’re making a habit of it,” you hum, wrapping the bandage around her torso. Her skin is warm against your fingertips. She shivers lightly at your touch.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Sorry about that,” she says more genuinely, brow pinched as if she’s worried she might be intruding on you. It makes you want to laugh, almost. If only she knew how much she was on your mind.

“No, don’t be,” you rush out. “I mean, I don’t mind.” It comes out clumsily and you wince. Kate blinks.

“No?” she asks quietly, an edge of something like hope in her voice. Your hands still, looking up at her. There’s warmth in her cheeks again, and heat in her gaze, and you find your eyes drawn to the way her lips are slightly parted…

You squeak slightly. “No, no, I mean, it’s practice. Not everyone is on call to a superhero,” you tease.

Kate deflates slightly at that, sobering quickly. “Right,” she mutters.

Your fingers slacken around the bandage. Shit. Did she mean something else? “No, I meant—“

She clears her throat. “Yeah, um. Thanks for your help. Again,” she smiles weakly, taking the bandage from your loosened grip and fastening it tight around herself. You look on, dumbfounded, unable to shake the feeling that you’ve misunderstood.

You swallow thickly, nodding. “No problem.” She tries to pull herself up and you take her hand, steadying her. Kate’s hand is soft in yours, her finger tips a little calloused but still so gentle when they graze your palm. Then it hits you.

You don’t want her to leave.

You realize you’ve been holding on to her for too long, and drop her hand like a hot coal. Kate’s face falls.

“I’ll, uh. Just be going,” she mutters, moving past you with a hand on her side. Something inside you screams not to let her go and you can’t help but panic a little.

“Wait,” you say, sharper than you intended, and she flinches a bit. Guilt immediately washes over you. “I… did I say something wrong?” It comes out a little brokenly. The last thing you want to do is ruin this, whatever it is, the late nights in your kitchen, patching up a cut on her temple, so close you could just brush your lips against hers, softly. But you won’t, because if you screwed it up, you know you’d miss it too much. Miss her too much.

Kate looks miserable. “No,” she huffs. “No. I just misjudged something.” She zips her suit back up, not looking at you. “I have to go.”

“Kate,” you murmur. She meets your gaze silently, and you bring a hand to her cheek. You brush aside her hair to find a little scar, from a cut you patched up just a week ago. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I don’t know why I keep coming here. I’m sorry,” she whispers. “And I know, I know you don’t mind helping me, but I feel like I’m taking advantage—”

You frown. “Kate, what are you talking about?”

“I come here every week to bleed out in your kitchen. Just to see you, you realize that?”

You blink. Of everything, that had never occurred to you. That she could possibly look at you and feel the same bubbling warmth that you did. All the late night visits, all the times you were close enough to press your lips to her skin, and you didn’t, for fear of rejection��� and now Kate thought you were rejecting her?

“But you. You were hurt—” you mumble stupidly.

Kate sighs. “You think I couldn’t fix that myself? I wanted you.” She fiddles with the fabric of her suit, her face hot against your hand, where it seems to be stuck. “And I misjudged it, clearly, I’m sorry.”

“You say sorry too much.”

“I— what?”

“Kate,” you mumble, bringing your other hand to her cheek, flushed a sweet pink. Your eyes dart down to her lips, bitten and a little bloodied, but looking so petal soft it makes you dizzy. “Kate,” you say thickly, tilting forward to press your forehead to hers, noses brushing.

She swallows, bringing a hand to your waist. It’s a delicate kiss, tentative, and you can taste the sharp tang of blood as your lips meet, but Kate’s mouth is sweet and warm. Her hand strokes up the small of your back, pressing you into her as her mouth moves softly against yours.

She pulls away, and presses a kiss to your forehead, leaving you slightly breathless, your body tingling with warmth. Against your skin, she smiles.

“So does this mean I can keep crashing at yours?” She wags an eyebrow.

Dante purrs in approval from where he’s curled around Kate’s feet. And you smile, pulling her in once again.

[fireya-x]

family dinner

AO3 Link (for the full tag list) || masterlist

John Price x Reader

John asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for one night, to save himself from annoying questions from his family. Turns out, you're actually who he really wants.

[9k+ words]

cw: smut, piv sex, cowgirl, handjobs, come eating

Embossed golden script on cream white card paper - it was an invitation to his grandmothers' birthday party, alright. A subtle attempt at elegance from a woman who thought tea and a tin of biscuits solved most problems. John sighed.

He already knew the drill; his mother, every aunt and uncle, cousins and second cousins twice removed would be there, armed to the teeth with baby pictures and probing questions to make him wish he’d stayed in another country in some godforsaken warzone.

The phone ringing cut through John’s meager dinner of takeout curry, one of his favorites, when he was back in his flat for a short time leave. He picked it up and answered before checking, as he usually did, expecting it to be Laswell – but that voice wasn't Kate.

“Jonathan, my dear boy, did you receive the invitation?” His grandmother’s voice was a robust cackle for her age, a force of nature that kept her so fit at ninety.

“Just held it in my hands seconds ago, Nan.” 

“Ninety years young, can you believe it?”

“Never a dull moment,” he answered, picking at the takeaway container lid.

She laughed lightly, then cleared her throat. “Listen, dear. The caterer is extra fussy. Your opinion is special to me, you know that. It’s not like I get to plan this every day”

Here it comes.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m asking you what you want, John. I have everything else planned.” Of course she did. 

“It’s your birthday, Nan. I’ll eat anything,” he sighed. “Toffee pudding can’t be missing from any birthday, though.”

“Of course, that’s a must! Especially with you visiting! You’ve always loved it as a little boy. Now tell me, is your girl more a partial to fish or chicken?”

The fork clattered onto the styrofoam. John almost choked.

“You’ll be bringing someone, aren’t you?”

He should have said no. He should have clarified, for the thousandth time, that his occupation left no room for romantic walks on the beach and candlelit dinners. Maintaining relationships wasn’t something John did, especially when his job included more explosions than birthday candles on her birthday cake. And apparently, eliminating terrorists and global threats was not a suitable substitute for great-grandchildren.

But there was something in her voice. Hope? Excitement to finally see her grandson with a woman at his side? It was her 90th birthday, after all. Who knew how long John would have her still? Seeing him happy was the greatest gift he could give her, and he knew that.

John sighed. “Yes, I will bring someone.”

That she didn't squeal was unexpected, but he knew his mother was right there with her, listening to everything.

Fuck.

What was he supposed to do? Try Tinder, maybe? How hard could it be to find a woman who’d go on a date with him? But John hated every single aspect of using his phone for anything other than texting and calling — and he gave up when the app asked him too many questions about himself.

That’s when he heard footsteps outside his apartment. He remembered that beautiful, chatty neighbor of his. You'd watched his flat and watered his plants a few times when he was deployed. You’d only met briefly, but given John’s sparsely decorated way of living, he wasn’t worried you would steal anything. But his grandmother's plants were something holy to him, and you kept them alive, and that made you a trustworthy person in his book.

And he would be lying if he didn't admit he'd stolen a glance at you here and there, always hidden in a hoodie or a way-too-big raincoat that obscured your figure, and something about it intrigued him.

Before his brain could even process what his feet were doing, he stumbled to the front door and opened it, revealing you, arms full of groceries, struggling to get the key into the door.

“Need help with that?” A low, grumbling voice startled you, and you almost dropped the bag full of fruits and veggies.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

John chuckled, then took the bag from you as if it was something he'd casually do all the time. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, putting the key in the lock. You took the bag from him and wanted to escape this awkward situation with your way-too-good-looking neighbor as fast as possible. But before you could close the door, he intervened.

“Hey, uh, I have a question.” John’s hand ran through his hair, a nervous gesture that betrayed his usual confidence.

“Yes?”

“I – I kinda promised my grandma that I’d bring a girlfriend to her 90th birthday party, and, well –”

“You don’t have one?” The question came out sounding more shocked than you intended. You were certain he had women lining up for him.

“Yeah, I mean, no, I don’t.” His gaze dropped to the floor for a fleeting moment, as if suddenly embarrassed by the admission. You tilted your head, looking at him expectantly.

“So, you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend? What’s in it for me?”

“Free fancy food?” He smiled crookedly, and you were done for. How could you say no to that smile? The same smile that had been haunting your thoughts ever since he’d given you his keys to his apartment? Your heart was pounding.

“It’s a date,” you said, the words slipping out before you could overthink it. The relief that flooded his eyes made something inside you flutter.

“Thank you, I owe you one. Six p.m. on Friday, alright?”

“What should I wear?”

John wasn’t prepared for that question. And he didn’t mean to check you out – but he did. His eyes wandered from your boots, over your hips, up to your breasts – where his gaze lingered a second too long— and then to your face.

“It’s a garden dinner. I’m sure you’ll look nice in anything,” he said, the words feeling ridiculously inadequate the moment they left his lips.

“Very helpful, thanks.” He braced himself for a sarcastic retort, but you chuckled, shaking your head. “I’ll figure it out. Have a nice evening.”

You retreated to your apartment, leaning back against the closed door, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your heart was still pounding. Did John, your neighbor, ask you out? The same John who seemed so unapproachable, wrapped in that aura of intensity he always wore, who disappeared for weeks on end to go on “business trips” and returned with a deep shadow under those blue eyes? 

What did he even do when he disappeared? You'd never asked. Even when he'd given you his keys so you could look after his flat while he was gone, there was nothing that gave away what exactly he did or where he went.

The small conversations you’d shared had always been just that— small nothings, polite exchanges with your friendly neighbor. Still, those infrequent encounters always sent your stomach into a nervous frenzy. 

You rummaged through your closet, trying to find something that screamed “I'm a cool, collected woman who casually dates mysteriously handsome men ” without looking like you’d overdone it. A garden party could literally mean anything, especially since you knew nothing about his family. Were you supposed to pick a nice, flowing dress or stick with casual jeans and a shirt? You had no idea.

You stopped your mind from spiralling further. It wasn’t a real date. It was a fake date . 

What were you thinking, agreeing to this? You were doubting your own sanity — but then you remembered the crinkled corners of his eyes when he smiled, the warmth that radiated from him when he’d helped you with your groceries – saying “no” to him wasn’t even an option. There was something about him that drew you in, a gravitational pull you couldn’t resist, even if it meant playing pretend.

The sundress you wore – he couldn’t even pinpoint the colour, something soft and warm, summery, like the sky just before dusk – hugged your curves in all the right ways, the delicate straps showcasing the elegant line of your neck and collarbone. His gaze traced the gentle swell of your breasts beneath the thin fabric, the way the skirt flowed over your hips, his mind already picturing how it would look bunched up around your waist when –

Fuck.

A wave of heat - he knew it so well, yet hadn’t felt it in what seemed like forever - crashed over him, settled deep in his gut, tightening his muscles, making his cock twitch.

He shifted uncomfortably, desperately hoping you hadn’t noticed the way his pants suddenly felt about two sizes too small.

He’d usually never been one for flowery dresses and delicate gold jewellery like the earrings that decorated your ears. They clashed with the brutal reality of his world. But on you, it was devastating. You were an innocent, oblivious creature walking straight into his hardened, cynical world without even knowing it. And somehow, against all logic and years of self-preservation, he wanted to corrupt every part of you.

His gaze snapped to the flesh of your delicate thighs that left little to his imagination, those toned legs wrapped around his waist while he pulled you closer and –

Jesus fucking Christ, get a grip.

He forced himself to look away, clenching his jaw so hard he thought he’d pull a muscle.

This was his neighbour. You , who’d watered his plants, borrowed his toolbox, offered a smile whenever you met in the hallway. The one who’d agreed to this incredibly stupid idea. You were doing him a favour, for God’s sake.

“Ready?” He shoved the word out harsher than he’d intended, the sound completely alien to even his own ears. But before you could answer, he shut his door and ushered you towards the exit. He needed air. He’d preferred an ice bath, preferably yesterday.

You didn’t mind adapting to roles and play pretend at all, but as soon as you arrived at the estate, your confidence got humbled. The house was huge, and the driveway alone was already filled with floral arrangements and all sorts of birthday wishes – an enormous ninety made out of entirely blush pink roses and lavender decorated the front yard.

The garden party was in full swing already when you two arrived. The air buzzed with the sound of laughter and chatter, clinking glasses and the distant beat of a live band. John seemed oddly out of place in between the flowers and the brightly dressed guests, like a lone wolf who had been dragged to a tea party.

But as soon as you stepped further into the event, the warm air surrounding you, the scent of freshly cut grass and citrus, the smiling faces all around you, your anxiety about the whole thing lessened. 

“Don’t worry too much," John's arm brushed against yours as you navigated through the clusters of guests. He reached out to grab two drinks from a passing waiter’s tray. “The worst they could do is show you my childhood photos.”

He offered you a drink, and you took it from him, smiling. “Somehow, that’s not as reassuring as you think it is.” You earned yourself a deep chuckle that rumbled through his chest and did decidedly inappropriate things to your equilibrium.

When John took your free hand into his like it was the most normal thing in the world, you felt like this was going to be the easiest task. For a fleeting moment, it was easy to forget you were living a lie.

Until dinner.

The seating arrangements were strategically orchestrated, it seemed, to maximize family bonding - or torture, you hadn’t decided which. You found yourself sitting between John, radiating a mix of polite restraint and his usual natural intensity that set your pulse racing, and a woman with the same kind eyes as him.

“This is my mother, Eleanor,” John had introduced her earlier, her smile so warm and welcoming you’d almost forgotten you were supposed to be playing a role. She seemed almost too impressed when you'd introduced yourself, as if she couldn't quite believe he was telling the truth about having a girlfriend. 

You'd prove them wrong, not for their sake, but for your own growing satisfaction at seeing John surprised.

You were no stranger to the barrage of questions about your single status and lack of a partner from your own family, so you knew how tiresome it could get. You braced yourself for a similar interrogation.

Across the table, John's grandma beamed at you with a delight that melted your heart. You understood then what this was all about for him — fulfilling his grandmother's wish to see him happy, settled.

On impulse, you reached out to grab John’s hand beside yours, your fingers threading through his, offering him a reassuring smile, pretending to bring out your best I-am-so-in-love look you could muster. 

He seemed taken aback, his entire body stiffening for a split second as if your touch were an electric shock. But then he recovered quickly, his fingers tightening around yours with a gentle pressure that sent goosebumps dancing up your arm. He raised your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against your knuckles that lingered a heartbeat too long.

Your breath caught in your throat, your gaze fixated on the curve of his lips, the way his beard scraped against your skin. Your stomach did a somersault, your senses flooded with a rush of longing that was as unexpected as it was undeniably thrilling.

“So,” John's aunt leaned across the table, her voice a bit too loud, as if intended to break the spell you’d fallen under. “What do you do?”

You blinked, momentarily disoriented, your gaze reluctantly leaving John’s hand and focusing on the plate of food a server had just placed before you. Shepherd's pie. But not just any shepherd’s pie. This looked like a culinary masterpiece compared to the frozen meals you were used to eating all the time.

“I work in healthcare,” you answered, your mouth already watering at the sight of the culinary heaven before you. “I’m an ER nurse.”

“Oh, wow,” his grandma chirped from across the table, her eyes twinkling with genuine interest. Her comment, however, was quickly drowned out by his aunt's next, slightly more probing, question.

“I'm amazed you two met with such busy schedules. To be fair,” she added with a sly smile directed at John, “I'm shocked Jonathan managed to find someone at all with his occupation .”

Your fork, laden with a generous portion of creamy mashed potatoes and perfectly seasoned mince, froze halfway to your mouth. Your earlier questions about the nature of John’s job came rushing back. What exactly did he do? You knew he was often away for extended periods, you even kept his plants from dying a slow death from time to time, but his reasons had always been vague. “Business trips,” he’d called them, with a shrug and that infuriatingly handsome smile.

“Right,” you managed, forcing a light laugh as you carefully set your fork back down, your appetite momentarily forgotten. “We make it work. We talk a lot on the phone."

“You do?” His mother, ever the perceptive one, turned to John, her brows raised in what you could only describe as disbelief. “How come you always tell us you can’t contact us?”

John cleared his throat and his hand reached for his beer, his fingers wrapping around the cold glass. “Kate makes some exceptions,” he explained, his gaze fixed on the drink.

Kate? Your mind scrambled for context, your internal “John’s-Life” file coming up short. “Kate” let him make exceptions? Who was Kate, and more importantly, what kind of job required someone to ask permission to make personal phone calls? And why did you feel jealous - you had absolutely no business to feel this way. 

“Who’s Kate?” You asked, reaching for your champagne flute, unable to hide the accusatory edge creeping into your voice.

“My boss . Sort of.” The golden liquid got caught halfway in your throat. First name basis with his boss? His family knew his boss? So many questions came up, and you were slowly starting to panic. You were supposed to be a believable girlfriend, but you were scared the mask was slipping away by the second. 

“Oh, right, Kate. Sorry, darling. You know how my weeks have been lately. It's a wonder I can remember my own name half the time.”

“She must be happy for you, too,” his mother commented, delicately spearing a piece of fish with a precision that made you suspect years of etiquette training lay beneath her impeccably polite facade. “Finding someone special, I mean. Might even spare her some of your, shall we say, moods .” She glanced at John, her eyebrows arched as if she was sharing a private joke with the entire table, except you.

Moods? You’d always found John to be quiet, reserved, perhaps a tad intimidating at times, but never moody. 

You glanced at John, who was pointedly studying his plate, the faintest hint of a flush creeping up his neck. You wouldn't have thought the man capable of embarrassment. It made him seem unexpectedly human, and somehow even more attractive.

You were about to ask for clarification when Nan seized the conversational reins. “So, darlings,” she asked, her gaze moving back and forth between you and John, her smile widening expectantly, “How long have you two known each other?”

“I think six months?” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips.

At the exact same moment, John declared, “Almost a year now,” his voice deep and steady, completely contradicting your rushed estimation.

You froze. The silence that descended upon the table was deafening. 

“Has it already been that long?” you exclaimed quickly, forcing a bright smile and injecting as much wonder and mock surprise into your voice as you could muster. You prayed that your sudden rush of amnesia would be enough to distract them from the giant, elephant-sized hole you’d just blown in your story. You reached over to slightly squeeze his hand. “I suppose time flies when you’re in love.”

You snuck a peek at John, expecting to see panic, maybe even annoyance, but what you found in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. He was watching you intensely. And that smile playing at the corner of his lips? It made something dangerous and delicious twist low in your belly.

“I believe that,” John’s grandma chimed in, her voice warm with the wisdom of nine decades lived. “You two are very lovely together.”

Eleanor nodded in agreement. “She’s good for you, Jonathan. Maybe having someone special to come home to will make those long missions away a little easier.”

"Speaking of which, how’s that new posting treating you, lad? Heard it’s a bit of a hot zone, eh?” John's uncle boomed across the table.

“It has its challenges,” John replied, taking a long sip of his beer as if to fortify himself for the inevitable round of inquiries. “But it’s good to be back in the field.”

You frowned. Field? Posting? What kind of job involved working in a “field”? And what exactly made it a “hot zone?” You felt more and more confused by the conversation, it was as if they spoke an entirely different language, a language riddled with code words and shared experiences you weren’t privy to.

“That I believe,” his uncle answered, also reaching for his beer as if to toast to a shared understanding. “Bet your rank will get you far, though.”

You felt John tense beside you, his hand tightening around yours, not letting go. His family's casual acceptance of his frequent — and apparently lengthy — disappearances made you increasingly curious. You knew by now he often travelled for work, but something about the way they spoke, the underlying thread of concern laced with pride, hinted at a world you were only just starting to glimpse.

“I imagine those long stretches apart must be difficult, darling,” John's aunt commented, her gaze fixed on you with a sympathy that only deepened your bewilderment. “But I’m sure you’re used to it by now, working in a hospital and all. Those long shifts must be a challenge, too.”

You smiled, still confused about what was going on—but you also saw an opportunity. It was time to take control of the narrative, to steer this conversation into a territory you could navigate — even if it meant bending the truth further than it had already been twisted.

“Speaking of long stretches,” you interjected, shooting John a look that was equal parts challenge and playful invitation. You’d gone from wanting to bolt to wanting to play this game, see how far you could push him, how convincingly you could both lie. “Remember that road trip we took last fall? The one where we got hopelessly lost in the Scottish Highlands and ended up sleeping in the car?”

As you spoke, you noticed that everyone else at the table had dived into their food, the initial round of introductions and polite inquiries fading into a comfortable murmur of conversation. Nan beamed at you both, her fork hovering over a generous slice of shepherd’s pie, her eyes twinkling with the quiet pleasure of seeing her grandson – even a pretend version of him – happy.

Beside you, John stiffened, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of surprise and what you could only interpret as wary amusement. “Ah, yes,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, like velvet draped over steel. “Scotland. Beautiful, isn’t it, love?”

“Beautiful?” you countered, tilting your head and letting out a soft laugh that you were fairly certain sounded far more genuine than it should have. You couldn’t help but admire his quick thinking, the way he effortlessly picked up on your cue and played along. “Those winding Highland roads. They were more treacherous than romantic, if I’m being honest. I was certain you were going to drive us straight off a cliff at least a dozen times.”

His smile widened, revealing a flash of teeth that made something deep inside you melt a little. “I assure you, love, my driving is impeccable. You were simply distracted.” His gaze lingered on your face for a beat too long.

A delicious warmth flooded your cheeks. “Distracted? I seem to recall you being the one with wandering eyes," you countered, your voice dropping to a low murmur as you met his gaze head-on. You weren’t sure if the heightened awareness you felt buzzing between you was a product of the lies you were weaving or something more.

“That’s because you are quite the sight to behold, love,” he said, his voice husky, the words brushing against your senses like a caress.

You stared at him, your mind scrambling to process his words, their unexpected sincerity throwing you off balance. Had he just complemented you?

“You are—” He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering on your chest. He didn’t even try to hide it. You held your breath, waiting, as the air thrummed with a sudden, unexpected intimacy.

“Breathtaking.”

What was he doing? you thought, your heart pounding. Was he still playing the part, or was there something more simmering beneath the surface? And why did the possibility excite you?

The air thickened, the sound of his family’s conversation fading into the background as the world seemed to shrink, the space between you charged with an energy that was impossible to ignore. You weren't sure if you wanted to laugh or lean across the table and kiss him senseless.

Just as you felt yourself leaning into that dangerous impulse, Eleanor cleared her throat delicately.

You both startled, like students caught whispering in the back of the classroom. John's cheeks, you noticed with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction, were flushed a faint shade of pink. Even a man like John wasn't immune to a mother's watchful gaze.

“Those rolls are delicious, dear,” Eleanor commented, and turned to you, her tone light but her eyes sharp with amusement. “Why don't you have one?” 

You reached for a roll, suddenly starving, the earlier tension dissolving into a relieved chuckle as you caught John's eyes. He winked at you, a playful glint in his blue eyes. You winked back, feeling a warmth spread through you caused by the man sitting beside you, a man who, despite your best efforts to resist, was quickly becoming more than just a convenient prop in this game of play pretend.

You'd managed to escape the clutches of the dinner table without completely blowing your cover, even when, at some points, you weren’t so sure how nobody saw right through you. But then came the real challenge — mingling. The party had moved inside the house, and you were separated from John. 

You silently cursed yourself for agreeing to this whole fabricated scenario. What if you told completely different stories to his relatives? What if someone asked you about his work, for God’s sake?

Glasses of port in hand, John’s extended family seemed very determined to catch up on months’ worth of news in one evening. You did your best to smile politely at every occasion, your inner monologue continuously reminding you to simply not say anything stupid.

Suddenly, a very chipper and well-dressed woman intruded on your personal space, waving her phone in front of your face. “You must be John’s girl!” she exclaimed, and before you could even answer, she swiped through numerous photos. “Look at her – isn't she adorable!”

You leaned in, attempting to make eye contact with the child in the photos while subtly taking a step back, her perfume a bit overwhelming. “Absolutely adorable,” you agreed, putting on a wide grin, and the woman beamed. “Oh, I can’t wait to see what children you and John will bring into this world. Aren’t they the greatest thing?”

Children? Your smile faltered. You opened your mouth to respond, to stammer out some vague response about “one step at a time”, but before you could even get a word out, the woman had moved on, already excitedly showing off her offspring to the next unsuspecting relative. 

Note to self: Avoid eye contact with anyone holding a baby photo, you thought, your internal panic rising. This whole “fake girlfriend” thing was rapidly becoming a high-stakes obstacle course, and you weren’t sure you were agile enough to navigate it without falling flat on your face.

You were trying to reach John, a plate of sticky toffee pudding on your plate, wanting to show off that you were going to try his favorite dessert – when a booming voice cut through the chatter, catching your attention. “There he is!” A tall, older man with curly hair approached John and shook his hand with a force that could crush granite. “That last mission you pulled off? Absolute textbook. A captain leading his own task force? The old man would be bloody proud.”

John’s posture stiffened ever so slightly. “Cheers, uncle,” he responded, raising his glass, his gaze darting towards you for the briefest of moments.

Mission? Captain? Task force?

The people around you, completely oblivious to your internal meltdown, continued chatting, casually dropping words like “deployment,” “classified,” “weapons,” and all other sorts of military jargon as if they were discussing the weather.

Suddenly, everything fell into place.

All those late-night departures, when you heard heavy footsteps echo through your shared hallway; the vague explanations about “work trips” when you met him outside your apartment; those calls he received at odd hours, his voice tight, his tone clipped, echoing through your shared walls; those calls that always seemed to coincide with a breaking news report or some global crisis. John, your sweet, infuriatingly attractive, seemingly normal neighbor – was leading a deadly task force.

Not that it was any of your business what he did. He owed you nothing.

Then why did this feel like such a blow? That he didn’t tell you beforehand, throwing you into the midst of his family who were clearly all about that life, and leaving you in the dark, making a complete idiot of yourself?

You had been looking forward to trying the famous dessert all evening, but suddenly, your appetite completely vanished. The plate that you held suddenly felt as appealing as cold porridge.

“Everything alright, love?” John approached, noticing the shift in your mood.

You forced a smile, hoping it was convincing. “Peachy,” you replied. “Just, fascinating, hearing everyone’s stories.” You stabbed the pudding with your spoon, not sure where the feelings of anger came from.

You shoved the plate into his chest, forcing him to take it from you. “I just need some air.” You turned and made your way towards his Nan’s beautiful rose garden.

He’d lied to you.

Well, maybe not lied, exactly. Maybe it was the sudden awareness of the danger that shadowed his every move, who he really was, who he was compared to you.

You had every right to feel foolish, to even agree to such a stupid idea. But betrayal? You had no idea where it came from, it seemed like an overreach for a situation that had been, from the beginning, just a constructed lie.

Stepping out into the cool of the garden, you breathed a sigh of relief. The scent of flowers seemed to calm your racing mind a little, a welcome contrast to all the voices you just escaped. You found your way to a small bench underneath an old oak tree, sinking onto the cool wood, straightening your dress doing so.

You didn’t hear John approach, but then again, stealth was probably part of his many talents. You didn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, stopping right next to you, an arm leaning on the backrest of the bench.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, frustrated by all these emotions you were feeling. “Well, the food is excellent, your grandma is adorable, and I haven’t witnessed any international incidents first-hand - yet. So that’s a win, I guess?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, a welcome contrast to the tension that had been knotting your stomach ever since you’d pieced together the things about his life. You’d grown accustomed to that sound, to the way it rumbled deep in his chest, unexpectedly gentle for a man who, apparently, spent his days navigating a world far removed from yours.

He shifted slightly, settling beside you on the bench. You felt the heat radiating off him in the cool air of the evening, an awareness that lingered even though he wasn’t touching you.

“Look,” he began, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, a gesture that was strangely endearing on a man who usually was so confident. “My life –” He gestured vaguely towards the party, the house. The unspoken explanation – “ my life is a full-blown, military-grade soap opera ” – hung in the air between you.

“You know,” you interrupted him, turning to face him. “A little heads-up about what you do would have been nice. Especially that it’s such an important thing in your family.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. It wasn’t fair to throw you into that without a warning. I guess because it’s so normal to me, I just completely forgot about it.”

“I’m a nurse, I don’t really specialize in disarming bombs or whatever it is your uncles like to do for fun.”

He laughed then, a full, hearty laugh, that made your heart flutter faster in your chest.

“It’s not funny.” You said, looking away. “And I know I have absolutely no right to feel – ” you struggled to find the right word. 

“To feel –?” he prompted, leaning a little closer.

“Disappointed,” you breathed. “It’s silly, I just felt like I was left out of inside jokes during dinner. I tried so hard to not let this lie slip, but it could have been so much easier if I had known.” You took a deep breath. “So, while I was keeping your plants alive," you added, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice, "You were out there doing what exactly? Neutralizing threats? Saving the world? I missed that chapter in the ‘Good Neighbor Handbook.’”

You couldn’t help the edge that crept into your voice. At first, it had just been a fun little game, a chance to play dress-up and enjoy delicious food. But now, now it felt different. You were, suddenly, uncomfortably aware of just how much you didn’t know about the man sitting beside you. 

The silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the gentle chirping of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves overhead. John stared at you, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

“You probably think I am a complete idiot,” you continued, the words tumbling out in a rush, a jumble of emotions you couldn’t quite decipher. “I'm sorry, I'm being absolutely dramatic –”

The words died on your lips as his hands shot out, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks with a touch that was both possessive and unexpectedly tender. His gaze held yours captive, those blue eyes burning with a fierce intensity that stole your breath away. And then, without a word, without warning, his mouth crashed down on yours.

His lips were hard, demanding, hungry, devouring yours as if he couldn’t get close enough, his tongue tangling with yours in a desperate, unyielding dance. 

It was primal, raw, untamed. It was the kind of kiss that stripped away the pretence, obliterated the boundaries, and left you gasping for air, your mind reeling, your body aching for something you couldn’t name but craved with every fibre of your being.

Time seemed to stand still — the garden, the party, the lie — it all faded away. There was only the feel of his lips on yours, the light scrape of his beard against your skin. The taste of him was intoxicating, the heat of his body radiating off him in waves.

Eventually, he pulled back, his breath mingling with yours in the night air. His hands lingered, resting on your face, slightly tracing the lines of your jawline. His gaze was wild, eyes dark and burning into you with an intensity that made you want to melt into a puddle.

You stared back, your mind racing. This was the moment the lines blurred. There had been something there — you felt it. It was more than pretend, more than just playing a game. Desire. Interest. Even though you felt like you no longer knew this man at all, you wanted to get to know him all over again. Taste him, touch him — you blinked, trying to collect your thoughts.

“Would you prefer to leave?” John's hand, still warm from its possessive grip on your face, gently brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture both intimate and oddly reassuring.

You shook your head. “It’s your grandma's birthday. You can’t just leave because I feel uncomfortable.”

“I think we’ve both had enough of the party for one night,” he murmured, a quick smile flashing across his face. “I’m going to let her know you aren’t feeling too well. Alright?”

He leaned in again, his lips brushing against your cheek, then, with a low rumble, he whispered in your ear, “Wait here.”

In front of both your apartment doors, the silence was an awkwardly long stretch. It felt like you were both trying to understand what had just happened, unsure where to begin.

“So, um,” he started, then stopped, running a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that you found strangely endearing. “Thank you for coming.”

You nodded and smiled, “Of course. It was nice to get the dust off this dress again.”

He leaned towards you slowly, and your breath hitched. For one heart-stopping moment, you thought he might kiss you again – would he? Was what happened in the garden just an impulsive decision?

But he hesitated, the moment frozen, and there was something indecisive happening between you. But you didn’t mean to push, neither did he.

He cleared his throat and finally spoke. “Good night,” he said, his words careful, as if he were holding back from saying something else.

“Good night,” you echoed, your voice barely a whisper. The small hope that you'd taste him one more time evaporated.

You turned, your hand reaching for your door, keys almost to the lock, when strong hands grabbed you, spinning you around in a dizzying motion. Before you could even register what was happening, his lips were on yours again — silencing all those unspoken doubts and hesitations.

This was real. You felt it; your heart screamed it; the way his mouth was devouring yours, displaying a hunger and desire that shouted it from the rooftops.

Your hands tangled in his hair, holding on for dear life, as his tongue traced the seam of your lips with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. You felt the rumble of his groan against your mouth as he backed you against your apartment door, his body moulding against yours as if he was starving for the feel of you. You were breathless, lost in the heat of his touch, the way his hands roamed your back and finally settled on the curve of your ass.

You realized then that you had always dreamed of kissing this man, silently, secretly, whenever his eyes lingered on yours for a beat too long right there in the hallway. You’d always dismissed those fantasies as wishful thinking, but clearly, he’d been wanting the same.

You heard a click as the lock on your door was turned, and you felt as his hand fumbled with the doorknob behind your back – all while his lips were still on yours, occasionally wandering to kiss your jaw and giving you an opportunity to breathe. He cursed under his breath, and before you even processed what was happening, he shouldered the door open and pushed both of you back into the darkness of your apartment.

The familiar space of your home was suddenly transformed, and John's touch was the compass guiding you. He didn't release you, keeping you close to his body as if you might slip away. With a smooth movement, he shoved the door shut, tossing your keys somewhere onto the floor.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you up flush against him, the gasp that escaped your lips quickly swallowed by his next kiss. He carried you, your legs wrapped around his waist, until he reached your couch, where he gently laid you down, his body hovering over yours, his eyes devouring you, making you feel incredibly vulnerable.

The sofa dipped as he planted his knees left and right next to your legs, and he leaned to hover over you. You were both breathing hard, the only sound in the silent room. The only light illuminating you was the sliver of moonlight spilling through the window above.

“Is this still pretend?” you managed to whisper, your voice a shaky breath.

His eyes locked onto yours, the slight smirk on his face sending a thrill to your core. His hands moved to your hips, deliberately grinding them against his groin. You gasped as you felt the hardness of his arousal pressed against you, hyperaware of the thin fabric separating your most intimate parts.

“Fuck, no,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. He moved his hips again, his hands slowly but intentionally pushing up your dress.

Your skin felt like it was on fire; your head was spinning. 

One of his hands moved up to the line of your dress, and with a rumble in his throat, he pulled the fabric aside, exposing the swell of your breasts to his hungry gaze.

His pupils dilated, his eyes dark and intense, as he stared at you like a starving man presented with a banquet. You'd never been so incredibly turned on, no man had ever made you feel this way— John’s simple gesture of delicately tracing the skin around your nipples made you moan so loudly you immediately threw a hand over your mouth, slightly embarrassed.

“No, let me hear it all. You sing so beautifully, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand gently moving yours away, his touch a mixture of possessiveness and unexpected tenderness.

"John,” you breathed, your voice a shaky sigh.

“This bloody dress,” he groaned. “Wanted to rip it off you the second I saw you standing at my door.” His voice was raw, unfiltered – gone was the nice, gentle neighbor; this was the Captain coming through, the darker, more commanding side of him that should have scared you, but only served to intensify the desire swirling inside you. You wanted to know all about the man he left behind as soon as he stepped into this building.

“Every fuckin' time I saw you in the hallway, those quick hellos were never enough,” he confessed, one hand tightening on your hip, the other slowly trailing down your skin beneath the hem of your dress. His touch was agonizingly slow, leaving a trail of heat in its wake that made you lose your mind. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His words were so honest, it caught you off guard completely. It must have shown on your face right then, because he smiled in return. “Never thought I’d stand a chance," he admitted. "You always seemed out of reach.”

You frowned. “Out of reach?”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Figured I’d never stand a chance against the queue of blokes lining up at your door.”

“John, what? A queue, for me?” You laughed, your disbelief genuine, gesturing towards yourself.

He sighed, sitting up, his fingers playing with the lace trim of your panties as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You’re beautiful, and tonight, I learned it’s inside and out. You're you, and that's fuckin’ wonderful."

You shook your head in disbelief. His words made your entire body tremble.  He wasn’t just looking at your body; he was seeing you. And it felt extraordinary.

He watched you intently, his eyes filled with a longing that mirrored your own. “I kept thinking about what you were hiding underneath those baggy clothes,” he confessed, his voice a husky whisper, his fingers slowly sliding your panties down your legs. He felt you shy away from him a little, a smirk on his face stole your breath, as he pushed your legs apart with his calloused hands. “Like I said, so beautiful.” He whispered, his voice so rough with what you could only describe as lust. It made you shiver.

“You know,” you whispered, “The funny thing is, I thought exactly the same.”

“What do you mean?” You watched as he slowly ran a hand along your thighs. A ragged breath escaped your lungs, and you struggled to continue speaking.

“You’re incredible – there’s no way you didn’t have someone to –”

“To what?” he asked, suddenly stopping his movements, his gaze intense. “Willing to take a chance on a bloke who doesn’t know a thing about flowers or romantic dinners? Who spends more time on planes than in his own flat? Whose idea of a good time involves dodging bullets and disarming explosives?” He let out a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head.

He was being so completely honest with you, so vulnerable, it sent a sharp pang through your chest. He was seeing you – the real you, hidden beneath the baggy clothes and carefully constructed walls – and for the first time that night, you were truly seeing him . John, who looked like he could bench-press a small car, who radiated an aura of danger as naturally as he breathed. 

He wasn’t some playboy who brought women home every other night, like you’d assumed. He could have any woman he wanted – and yet, here he was, his gaze tracing every inch of your naked body.

He liked you. He’d thought about you.

It felt surreal.

“Best decision I’ve made in a long time,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Asking you, I mean. Thinking I could never have you, and now –”

You held your breath, anticipation coiling in your stomach. “Now what?” you whispered.

“You’re mine.” He growled, and before your brain could even process what happened, his mouth was on your clit, kissing and sucking like he finally got to taste that delicious meal he was promised. 

“Oh god–!” you moaned, your hands instinctively gripping his hair, your nails digging into his scalp. He moaned, and the vibration of it against your skin made your legs twitch uncontrollably.

John’s touch was relentless, his tongue swirling against your most sensitive flesh, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you that were unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. You arched against him, your hips bucking involuntarily, craving more of the delicious friction that was driving you to the edge of madness.

He seemed to sense your desperation, the way your body was begging for something more. He pulled back, his gaze meeting yours, his eyes dark with a possessiveness that both thrilled and terrified you. His hand replaced his tongue, fingers gently caressing your sensitive clit. “Look at you,” he murmured. “So fuckin’ hot.”

“John,” you breathed, you were speaking without any control over it.

“What do you need, love?” he asked, his voice thick with lust, his hand never ceasing its tormenting, exquisite torture against your aching core.

“I – I need –” You couldn't form the words. Your mind was blank, and your body was trembling with need that eclipsed all rational thought.

He seemed to understand, his gaze softening, a knowing smile curving his lips. He rose slightly, his hands moving towards the belt buckle, groaning as he released himself from the confines of his trousers.

He stepped out of his pants, the sound of fabric hitting the floor echoing in the sudden silence. His shirt followed shortly after, and you were captivated. His body was hard, sculpted muscle, his arousal straining against the fabric of his boxers, proof of the desire you'd awakened within him.

You watched, mesmerized, as he slowly peeled off his boxers, his gaze never leaving yours. His hand reached down, fisting himself, and your breath hitched at the sight.

“Still think you’re not attractive to me, love? Look what you’re doing to me,” he let his thumb slowly run over the head of his length, spreading the drop of pre-come that formed there, and he must have known it was teasing you, driving you mad. “Tell me what you want,” he commanded.

You opened your mouth to speak, to voice the desire that was burning through you with the force of a supernova, but the words caught in your throat. All you could manage was a whimper as your fingers were digging into the cushions, hips arching upwards, instinctively seeking out friction you craved.

You felt like if you couldn't have him, you might die.

“Uh-uh.” His hand reached forward to grab the soft flesh of your tits, one after the other, and his thumb brushed a teasing circle around your nipples, the pressure increasing just enough to make you gasp. "I said, tell me what you want.”

“You,” you confessed, the words torn from your very soul. “For God's sake, I fucking need you.”

John's gaze intensified, his eyes dark, and the corner of his mouth twitched, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. He loomed over you like a predator about to claim his prey. With a growl, he leaned down, pressing his mouth on yours, and you could feel his erection pressing between your folds.

One of his hands shot out, cupping the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you captive. 

“You’re going to get everything you need, love,” he breathed, and followed by his promise, he entered you in a deliberately slow movement, almost torturous. He moaned, so raw and primal, it made you clench around him, and your entire body ignited as he filled you completely. His size, his heat, the intensity of the sensation – it sent your senses into overdrive, causing you to dig your nails into his back.

“Ohhh fuck,” you moaned, your voice a breathless whisper, lost in a world of sensation he'd created with his touch.

He paused, holding himself perfectly still within you, savoring the feel of your body clenching around him and the soft moans escaping your lips.

You whimpered, arching your hips up instinctively, desperate for more, aching for him to erase every thought, every doubt, every worry, with the overwhelming pleasure that throbbed between you.

He chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down your spine, and then he moved. Slowly at first, deliberately drawing out the sensation, his hips rocking against yours, each thrust a slow, agonizingly delicious torture that had you clinging to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your nails leaving trails of fire on his skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice tight with need as he buried himself deeper. “You're so fucking tight – so fucking wet.”

But even in the haze of pleasure, a primal instinct took over. He needed more. He rolled you both over, shifting his weight so that you were straddling his lap, your legs draped over his thighs, your core aligned perfectly with his arousal. He kept his eyes locked on yours as he reached for the hem of your dress, his fingers working quickly, impatiently, to free you from the loosely hanging fabric.

“Now,” his hands found your hips, guiding you closer, his thumbs stroking the sensitive flesh. “Ride me, love.”

You looked down at him, at the raw, unfiltered hunger in his eyes, the way his chest heaved with each ragged breath, and a surge of confidence, of pure, unadulterated lust, washed over you. You began to move, supporting your weight against him by running your hands through the light fur that dusted his chest. 

His hands dug deeper into your skin as you increased the pace, moving faster, harder, riding his cock wildly, completely lost in the pleasure.

Every movement sent jolts of pleasure through you. He watched you, his gaze never leaving your face, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as if he were hanging onto your every move.

“Fuck, yes,” he growled, his voice thick with approval. “Like that, love. Ride me hard.”

His words were a primal command, a challenge that sent a thrill through you, making you even bolder, even more daring. You leaned forward and kissed him, biting his lip, drawing a groan from him that resonated deep in your core.

He tasted of salt and desire, the scent of his arousal filling your senses, making you wild. His hands were guiding your movements, matching your intensity, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge of release.

With each thrust, you felt the coil of pleasure tighten inside you, building towards a crescendo that threatened to shatter you both. You moved faster, harder, your body driven by an instinct as old as time itself. His touch was a brand, marking you as his, and the possessive hunger in his eyes as you rode him, almost send you over the edge alone.

He was groaning now, his words a jumble of incoherent pleas and praises, his fingers digging into your flesh as he struggled to maintain control. You felt him tense, the muscles in his thighs and arms bunching beneath your touch, and you knew the storm was about to break.

“Don’t stop,” his voice was raw with need, his gaze burning into you as if he wanted to sear this moment into his soul. “Come for me, love. Let me feel you shatter."

And with one final, earth-shattering thrust, you did.

A shudder ripped through you, a wave of pleasure so intense it stole your breath away. Your walls clenched around him, a thousand tiny sparks of sensation exploding behind your eyelids. Your name tumbled from his lips, a breathless groan, as he held you tighter. You cried out, the sound swallowed by his eager mouth as he captured your lips in a desperate kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as wave after wave of pure bliss crashed over you, leaving you trembling, weak, utterly undone.

After you came down from your high, you watched him intently as he was also struggling on the edge of release. Driven by need and desire, you slowly let his cock slip out of you. He made a sound that sounded animalistic, a groan, low and deep in his chest, an expression of frustration. Your hand moved instantly, your fingers finding his length, circling him, stroking him with a deliberate, unhurried rhythm. Your fingertips traced a feather-light path up the underside of his shaft, lingering at the sensitive ridge just below the head before gliding back down to the base, your thumb brushing teasingly against the swollen vein that pulsed with his arousal.

His head fell back against the cushions, his eyes closed, a ragged breath escaping his lips as you continued to tease him, your touch the only cure for his aching need. You watched him, mesmerized by the play of muscle beneath your hand, the raw power he embodied even at that moment of vulnerability.

“I can't –” His fingers dug into the cushions, his body tensing as if fighting against the tide of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him.

You smiled. The power thrumming between you was intoxicating, addictive. “Can’t what, John?” you whispered, leaning in, your lips trailing a teasing path along the hard planes of his stomach. “Can’t hold back anymore?”

His answer was a strangled groan. His body went rigid, and the wave of pleasure that followed was written all over his face. His hand shot out, not to stop you, but to grip your wrist. His fingers tightened around it, his control started slipping, shattering, as his release washed over him.

You whispered small praises, and watched, fascinated, as his release spurted over your hand in hot, pulsing bursts. His hips were stuttering, his cock, hard, thick in your grasp, throbbed, and the remnants of his release felt warm against your skin. He was completely at your mercy.

You’d never felt this bold, this empowered, this reckless. Before you could overthink it, you raised your hand to your mouth and licked his come off of your fingers.

Your wish to taste him, it couldn’t get any more him than this. Salt, sweat, and something so uniquely his. It made your walls clench around nothing, sending a new wave of excitement through you.

John’s gaze snapped to yours, his eyes wide, a flicker of something dark and possessive flaring in their depths as he watched you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and reached out, his hand resting on your neck, his thumb slowly stroking along your pulse. “You’re something else, you know that, love?”

A nervous giggle escaped your lips. The sudden awareness of your actions, the intimacy of the moment, sent a wave of shyness washing over you. “I, uh,” you trailed off, averting your gaze, unable to meet the intensity burning in his eyes. Your cheeks burned, and you wanted to hide.

John’s hand shifted, his fingers tracing the curve of your jawline. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Don't shy away from me now, sweetheart,” he murmured and softly ran his thumbs over your lips. “Not after that.”

“That was –” You struggled to find the words, your thoughts were a mess. “I've never –”

“Never?” He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, the scent of him filling your senses, making you dizzy.

“Never been that bold,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to his lips, their fullness suddenly a source of endless fascination. “Or wanted someone so intensely.”

A dark smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with triumph and something that sent a delicious thrill through you. “Good,” he growled, the word a low rumble that vibrated through you. “Because you're mine now, love. And I'm not about to let you forget it.”

And then, before you could protest – not that you had any intention of doing so – his lips crashed down on yours. It wasn’t gentle. This kiss was a possession, a claiming, a wildfire consuming everything in its path. His hand shot out to grab your neck, holding you close to him.

This really wasn't pretend anymore.

[skaldish]

Alright folks. Here it is, my theory of what Ragnarok actually represents. It is very messy and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to actually convey my understanding clearly like I try with most things, because genuinely this is shit I would write a doctorate-level thesis on.

But we're going to try anyway.

So. After doing a lot to try to replicate animistic thinking, as well as taking a VERY deep read of the Norse myths, my theory is that Ragnarok is specifically allegory for societal collapse—the "end of the world" imagery and such is meant to convey what this feels like.

Recall what Odin says in Grimnismal. It goes something like this, since I can't be arsed to find the exact quote:

Huginn and Muninn fly over the world every day; while I fear Huginn ("thought") may not return, I fear Muninn's ("memory's") absence most.

When a society collapses, so does it's memory. It loses its technology, its methodologies, its paradigms, and everything it has learned about the world up to that point. Gone. Entire chapters of history erased.

What causes societal collapse is not always a conquering force, but is oftentimes the result of circumstances that a society orchestrates for itself. Think Rome.

People who have gone through societal collapse will probably develop an invested interest in figuring out how to prevent it entirely, so they don't have to start society all over again.

It's one thing to preserve the memory of "things collapsed and here's why" using a story. But it's another thing to do what apparently the Norse people did, which is cultivate a methodology for cognitively hardening their own society against collapse, using stories as a way to do it.

Like...I'm not kidding when I say they legitimately knew how the human mind works, and then built an entire system of stories and narratives that intentionally support the mind's freedom, cultivation, and agency. I can only convey a fraction of how this works in this post because the rest requires a deep-dive into behavioral psychology and neurological development.

All the tales leading to Ragnarok demonstrate various instances where the gods choose to follow their own agendas at the expense of the real people and forces in the world. All of these little things contribute to the magnitude of the event that is Ragnarok.

The tales represent these transgressions using allegories rather than literal events. This is because these stories were designed for children, who don't process information through a prefrontal cortex like we do as adults. They don't have them yet. But this gives kids an intuitive understanding for how circumstances of collapse feel, so they can recognize them in all their forms.

Loki is an allegory for the mischief we feel as children, and for the behaviors we demonstrate before we get to the age where we start valuing cooperation. In the myths, every time Loki causes mischief in ways that creates problems, the gods get mad at him and threaten Loki's life until he fixes his mess. Loki eventually becomes vindictive, kills Baldr in a jealous fit, and then is punished by being bound and buried beneath the ground, only to fight against the gods in Ragnarok.

The surface-level takeaway is a lesson in parenting: If we punish kids for their mischief, they're going to become vindictive adults, and these adults are going to have it out for the rest of society because they've been disenfranchised.

But it doesn't just end here. Consider how we punish ourselves for our own sense of mischief, beating ourselves up for having "problematic" thoughts and trying to bind and bury those thoughts in the depths of our mind.

These thoughts come from a place our mind known as the limbic system, which is focused on avoiding pain and seeking pleasure, and—most importantly—does not understand the world or make decisions using logic and reason, but in terms of what feels enjoyable and what doesn't.

We tend to call this system our inner child.

When we punish our inner child, that child starts doing exactly what Loki does and resorts to malicious and petty tricks. We can hold this behavior at bay until something causes us to "snap" (like Jörmungandr's tail does) and out comes the malice of the disenfranchised inner child, which creates a terrible cascade of social consequences for us.

Now, if we were to listen to these stories as kids, we would naturally be very upset whenever Loki was threatened of punished, because we think out of the limbic system at that age and Loki is meant to represent us—specifically, the state of being a kid. We would see what comes to pass, with Loki being imprisoned and fighting the gods against Ragnarok, and it would become clear to us that there's consequences for punishing mischief AND also causing too much of it.

Now I don't know about you, but I was very motivated by a sense of justice as a kid. Hearing Loki's arc would have inspired me to learn how to be friends with my sense of mischief while also learning to use it in ways that were cooperative and social, because this would have been how I could right the wrong I felt was done to Loki. It would also mean my own limbic system will not fight against me in the future, but be a modality of thought I can always access. (This is the beauty of the way the Norse myths are crafted; they are designed to instill knowledge of the world using mechanisms that reinforce one's own sense of agency and competency, so rather than being told the moral of this tale, it sets me up to run right into the conclusion it wants me to draw, but in a way that makes me feel smart and therefore inspires me to value it.)

The binding of Fenrir serves a similar allegory. When we become explosively angry in the way that Fenrir represents, it consumes our wisemind the same way Fenrir consumes Odin during Ragnarok. But this only happens if we bind Fenrir/our anger. By demonizing this nature of ours simply for existing, it will not only refuse to listen to us, but also turn against us. Remember that Fenrir was willing to socialize and cooperate with the gods before his betrayal.

(Honestly, I believe this is why ulfheiðnar existed the way they did. Even though the animalistic rage of ulfheiðnar was too terrible for domestic society, it was not demonized, but instead given a social function. People would learn to understand and partner with their own sense of rage, and I'm guessing this is also how they were able to keep their sense of reason and priorities straight even while going berserk from psychoactives.)

These two examples serve to illustrate how societal collapse stems from binding or punishing our own natures. But also fearing our own nature as mortals factors into it.

For example, Naglfar. This is a ship constructed of dead people's fingernails, and its completion is part of what signals the beginning of Ragnarok. But as the story goes, we can delay Naglfar's construction by trimming the nails of the dead before we bury them.

Naglfar represents "neglect for the dead," and this is significant because the act of no longer viewing the dead as people is sort of like the canary in the coal mine for no longer view each other as people...and no longer seeing people as people is what defines Ragnarok.

A society is at peace when its people have no fear of death, and having no fear of death comes only by incorporating death as a normal and familiar part of life, just like we do with birth. Our relationship with death is a litmus test for our relationship with our own humanity—if we fear the dead and cannot see them as human beings, then we are always going to fear a part of our own humanity, and be at war with it. The simple act of keeping the nails of the dead well-groomed because it stalls Naglfar's construction was a way to remind people why such a simple act was profoundly important.

And these are just the things that I can think of off the top of my head that are the most obvious examples. There are—and I shit you not—multitudes of these things laced within the Norse myths.

(I haven't even gotten to the part about how the Norse creation myth uses what the womb feels like to characterize it. Telling this story to very little children helps them establish a sense of familiarity, belonging, and secure attachment with the entire world from the get-go. If they learn the world is everything they've already experienced, then their bodies will never be afraid of it, because nothing about it will feel unknown or unknowable. Like, how fucking dope can you get.)

So here's where we get to the really dense irony of all this: Why we don't pick up on all these nuances as Westerners and have so far missed this entirely.

It is for two reasons.

The first is because our society values the things that the Norse people identified as contributing to societal collapse—namely, the act of conquering/competing against other forces and conquering/competing against our own natures. The transgressions of the Aesir are not things we register as problematic because to us they're normal.

The second is that we don't think animistically. The way we are taught to convey, interpret, and transmit information is designed PURELY by and for the prefrontal cortex, with neglect to everything else (if you ever wonder why Americans look weird in how we behave, this is why). But because we only prioritize communicating this way, we're missing out on all the context added within the Norse myths. These myths function the same way Old Norse kennings did, in that they are designed to speak to ALL areas of the brain at once and in tandem, but if we only engage with it using one part of the brain, we're only going to get a small piece of the picture and the rest is going to look weird.

(Little experiment for you: Try to logic something out in your mind or think through a complex problem without using words or sentences to do it. Use any other kind of thought-process besides language. I promise you that not only is this possible, but it yields a completely different kind of experience and conclusion than you might otherwise reach.)

Honestly, I don't even think Snorri himself fully understood what he was looking at when he was recording the Norse myths. I think he was just writing them down according to how they were told, word-for-word. But his cluelessness is our good fortune now, because he not only preserved the cultural stories, but also what I consider an entire cognitive technology.

And every time I look at it, I can't help but think about the generations of people who sat around the fire in the dead of winter, weaving, crafting, and figuring out better ways to fortify their society, raise kids so they became fine and truly fearless people, and conserve information. This is, as far as I'm concerned, real magic.

They knew some shit.

[artvscvntymullet]

I have a will idea?

Maybe she works for one of the other creators and Will talks about his Deliveroo/Uber eats bill which is outrageous as he gets takeaway 2 sometimes 3 times a day and she offers to help teach him how to cook and they develop a relationship from that

A TASTE OF SOMETHING NEW - WILLNE

thank you for the request, this one was so fun to write!!

content warnings : none

word count : 2200 words

masterlist here !!

You’d always known Will was a bit of a mess when it came to his eating habits. It was a running joke among his friends and fans, he was the guy who ordered takeaway like it was an Olympic sport. You’d see him posting on his socials about his latest Uber Eats or Deliveroo delivery, always boasting about how many times he’d “treated himself” to food. But recently, you’d noticed he’d been talking about his takeaway habit a little more than usual.

One evening, while scrolling through your social media feed, you came across a video of Will chatting about how much he spent on food every month. You heard the thick Geordie accent before you saw his face. He looked both frustrated and amused as he ran the numbers aloud.

"So, my takeaway bill this month is extortionate," Will said, holding up his phone as if trying to show the camera his bank statement. "Two or three times a day, every day. That’s literally all I’m eating. I can’t cook, so I just keep ordering. I think I could’ve bought a small car with how much I’ve spent."

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was funny and kind of sad at the same time. Will wasn’t exactly poor, but the guy had absolutely no clue how to feed himself. You had seen him cook in the past, and while he wasn’t hopeless, it was clear that cooking wasn’t his priority. But that’s where you came in. You were known for your skills in the kitchen—friends always begged you to make them meals or show them your recipes. Maybe this was your chance to help Will out.

You didn’t waste any time. You sent him a message: Hey Will, I saw your latest video about your takeaway addiction. I get it—takeaway is great, but your bank account’s not gonna be happy if you keep this up. If you want, I can teach you how to cook. It’s not that hard, and trust me, you’ll save a ton of money. Plus, I’m really good in the kitchen.

It didn’t take long for him to respond, and the message was exactly what you expected: skeptical, but open: Wait, you think you can teach me how to cook? I can barely make toast, but alright, I’m intrigued. What do you have in mind?

You grinned to yourself. The guy was definitely down for the challenge, even if he didn’t believe you could change his ways. You quickly replied: How about we start simple? I’ll show you how to make a decent dinner without burning your kitchen down. I promise you, I won’t let you screw it up. What about this weekend?

His reply came through almost instantly: Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal. If I end up with a burnt kitchen, I’m blaming you though.

Saturday arrived, and you were feeling oddly excited about it. You packed up a few groceries, grabbed a few ingredients, and headed to Will’s flat.

When you arrived, he was already waiting for you by the door, grinning sheepishly. "I know I agreed to this, but I still don’t get how you think you can teach me to cook," he said, laughing as you walked inside. "I can’t even microwave food properly. Like, it’s a struggle."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "We’ll start slow. Don’t worry, I’ll be here to guide you." You dropped the bags onto the counter and began pulling out ingredients. "Today, we’re making a simple pasta dish. It’s easy, but it tastes way better than ordering in. Trust me."

The lesson started out slow. Will was completely clueless at first—he needed help with everything, from chopping the vegetables to stirring the sauce. But as you worked through the steps, you noticed something: Will wasn’t just following along because you were telling him what to do. He was genuinely interested. He asked questions, joked around, and seemed to enjoy learning how to actually make something from scratch. It was a bit adorable, to be honest.

"Okay, I’m not gonna lie," Will said, grinning at you from across the counter, "this actually smells good. Like, I’m impressed."

You smiled, pleased with how things were going. "See? It’s not so hard. You just need a little patience and some practice."

By the time dinner was ready, you were both sitting down to the pasta you’d made together. Will took a bite, looking impressed. "Okay, wow," he said, his eyes wide. "This is really good. You weren’t lying." He gave you a playful look. "So, what’s next? Am I ready for a Michelin star?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Not quite, but we’ll get there. You’ll be making full meals on your own in no time."

Over the next few weeks, you and Will continued your cooking lessons. You showed him how to make all kinds of things—from stir fry to homemade burgers. Every time, he was impressed by how good the food tasted, and how easy it could be to cook for himself. Slowly but surely, Will was starting to ditch the takeaways.

One evening, after a particularly fun cooking session, Will surprised you. You were both sitting on the couch, enjoying the meal you’d just made, when he turned to you, "I’ve gotta admit," he said, his voice a little more serious than usual, "I never thought I’d be into cooking. But… it’s been pretty fun, hanging out with you. And I’m actually kinda enjoying it. You’re pretty good at this."

You smiled, feeling a flutter in your chest. "I’m glad you’re liking it. But, you know, you’ve got a talent for it too. Just needed the right teacher."

There was a slight pause before Will looked at you, a bit more earnest now. "Well, if I’m being honest… I kinda look forward to these cooking sessions more than just the food."

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to quiet down. His gaze softened, and he moved just a little closer, his voice a little lower. "I mean, I really enjoy spending time with you," he added, a bit shy, his eyes meeting yours. "I didn’t expect it, but I think you’re great. I guess… I’m really glad you reached out to help me."

The air between you both felt different now—charged with something new, something more. You shifted closer, your voice barely above a whisper as you responded.

"I’m glad too, Will. I didn’t expect this either… but I think I’m starting to look forward to it too. More than I thought I would."

For a second, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was comfortable, natural, like everything had led up to this moment. Will hesitated before leaning in just enough to brush his lips against yours, soft and slow. "I think you’ve taught me more than just how to cook," he murmured against your lips, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You’ve taught me how to enjoy the little things. Like spending time with someone who makes everything better."

You smiled against his lips, your hand finding its way to his chest. "Well, you’ve been a pretty good student. And I’m starting to think… maybe this could be something even better than cooking."

His eyes softened, a tender look that made your heart race, before he kissed you again, this time a little deeper, a little longer. In that moment, you realized that all the little lessons you’d taught him had led you both here—into something real, something that was growing into something much more than either of you expected.

A few months later, you and Will had become regulars in each other’s kitchens. You still taught him new things, but now it was more than just cooking—it was about building something real together. Every meal, every shared moment, and every smile was a reminder that sometimes, it takes a little help in the kitchen to cook up something much sweeter.

"Hey," Will said one night, as he leaned in to kiss you after a meal you both had just finished preparing, "this whole ‘cooking together’ thing? Best decision I ever made."

You laughed softly, wrapping your arms around him. "Yeah, me too."

And for the first time in a long time, you realized that this wasn’t just about cooking anymore, it was something much more.

[theocddiaries]

Robotnik: Goodness, Stone, this café feels like a nursing home. Only old people come in. Sonic: It’s not like you’re in the prime of your life either. Robotnik: Excuse me, but I carry my forty-two years with grace. Shadow: There he goes, shaving off another year… Sonic: He ages backwards, like Benjamin Button. Robotnik: These people just come in to play dominoes and order water to soak their dentures. And I can’t even enjoy kicking them out because it’s not like they’re taking up space, the only young thing that walks in is this blue pest. Sonic: I’m amazed people don’t want to hang out here with your warm personality. Robotnik: Right? We have to do something to attract a younger crowd. At this rate we’ll be serving biscuits in purée form… Shadow: I saw a contest the other day where you pour juices into a bucket-- Robotnik: Now you wanna drink from buckets? When I gave you that bowl for your birthday, you sure complained until I got a scolding! [Maddie enters the café and hugs Sonic] Maddie: Stone, do you have my order? Stone: Yep. [hands her a takeaway coffee] Maddie: Thanks. [pays]: Sweetie, I’m going to pick up your brothers' yogur treat. Want a tub? Sonic: Hm, okay. But isn’t that far? Maddie: Yeah, but they’re hooked. And so are you, don’t pretend to be all grown-up. Robotnik: Excuse me, my dear neighbour, what are you talking about? Maddie: Ooh, such polite tone. Now I’m scared. Stone: Don’t worry, we were just brainstorming for the café. Maddie: Hm, well, the yogur thing is just yogurt with sprinkles on top. I say it’s the same as buying yogurt at the store and then buying the toppings separately. Robotnik: Cheap… Maddie: But no, these people slap on a fancy name, charge five dollars more, and boom! Robotnik: Profitable… Maddie: And since there are no shops in here, only downtown, there’s always a queue. That’s why I grab my coffee here so I can have it while I wait. Robotnik: No competition around… Maddie: Anyway, I’m off. Who knows how long I’ll have to wait, even on a weekday. [kisses Sonic on the head and leaves] Robotnik: Stone, brilliant idea. We’ll sell our own yogucrap. Stone: You know what? That’s actually a good idea. Shadow: I saw this coming, so I made a to-do list and gathered what we’ll need. Let’s organize— Robotnik: Hey, look at the hedgehog, thinking and writing! Damn, one of these days I’ll catch you reading! [grabs the notepad] Shadow: Whatever. How are we splitting the tasks? Robotnik: I was thinking you’d do everything and we’d wait here. Shadow: … Robotnik: Come on, don’t complain, other dads wouldn't let you see the world like we do. Shadow: But I don't want-- Sonic: I’ll come with you if you want. Shadow: Alright, I’ll do it.

[paddockletters]

broke but not broken | mason mount

pairing: mason mount x reader

summary: you prank Mason by saying you can't afford dinner.

I was scrolling through TikTok when I stumbled upon this brilliant prank: a girl telling her boyfriend she couldn’t take him out to dinner because she didn’t have any money. I couldn’t resist. Mason was such a sweetheart, and watching his confusion unfold would be comedy gold.

As we hopped into the car, both of us dressed to impress for our dinner date, I decided it was time to unleash my plan.

I leaned over and started recording, wanting to capture every moment. I took a deep breath and turned to him, my expression serious.

"Babe, what's wrong?"

“Mase, we need to talk.”

He glanced at me, his brow furrowing with concern. “You alright?”

I maintained my serious face.

“I can’t take you out to dinner tonight. I don’t have any money.”

His eyes widened, clearly bewildered.

“What do you mean? I always pay!”

“Yeah, well, not this time. So… we can’t go out,” I said, trying my best to keep a straight face.

“Wait, when did you ever pay?” He sounded genuinely confused, which made it harder for me not to laugh.

“Just today, I guess? I’ve got a strict budget,” I replied, feigning seriousness.

Mason leaned back in his seat, looking like I’d just told him the world was ending.

“You can’t be serious! Use my card! That’s why I work, yeah?”

I smirked, loving the way he was trying to reason with me. “But what if I don’t want to?”

“Are you joking? You’re leaving me like this?” He gestured to himself, all dressed up. “I’m ready to go, and you’re telling me we’re just… not?”

“Oh, absolutely. Welcome to my world!” I said, trying to suppress my laughter.

He shook his head, a mixture of confusion and concern on his face.

“But I don’t get it! You’ve got money somewhere, don’t you? I’m not asking you to pay! I want to take you out!”

I could hardly contain myself, watching his expressions shift from disbelief to sheer desperation.

“Mason, you’re not listening. I simply can’t afford it today. Maybe we can just grab a takeaway?”

His eyes widened even more.

“Takeaway? Is that what you want? I’m not having a night in with just microwave noodles!”

“Why not? They’re delicious!” I shot back, enjoying the banter.

He leaned forward, looking like he was trying to solve a complex puzzle. “No, seriously! When did you suddenly decide not to pay? This is all so weird! What’s going on?”

“Look, I just don’t feel like going out,” I said, trying to stifle my laughter. “Can’t we just order something in?”

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated.

“But I’m all dressed up! You can’t just bail on me like this!”

“Maybe I just wanted to surprise you with a cozy night at home?” I teased.

“Surprise? You’re killing me here!” he replied, his voice a mix of amusement and genuine concern. “I was looking forward to dinner!”

“This is pure gold, Mason! The world needs to see your reaction.”

“Great, can’t wait for everyone to see how you’re torturing me,” he said, crossing his arms dramatically.

I giggled as I watched him try to process the whole situation.

"But really, what if I’m saving my money for a surprise?”

“A surprise that leaves me starving?” he quipped, rolling his eyes but still trying to hide his smile.

“Exactly! Now you’re getting it!” I shot back, barely able to contain my laughter.

He paused, tilting his head as if he were figuring out a riddle.

“Look, just take my card! I don’t care about the money. I’m more worried about being hungry in a minute!”

“You’re so sweet,” I said, laughing at how genuinely concerned he sounded. “But no dinner means more time to cuddle on the sofa, right?”

“Now you’re just teasing me!” he exclaimed, half-laughing, half-dying inside. “This isn’t fair. I’m not leaving without food!”

“Too bad! You’re stuck with me and some instant noodles,” I replied, loving every moment of his confusion.

Finally, I relented, unable to keep the prank going any longer.

“Alright, alright! It was a prank! I saw it on TikTok!”

His expression shifted from confusion to relief, and then to mock annoyance. “You little bugger! I thought I’d have to starve!”

“I couldn’t help it! Your reactions were too good!” I said, still laughing as I stopped the recording.

Days before posting the video i have to say... it was a hit. I was on the couch with Mason next to me, and I started reading the comments as they rolled in.

“Why is Mason so confused?”

“Love this couple!”

“Mason’s reactions are the best!”

“LOL, he’s so sweet for offering to pay!”

"Mason was so offended istg "

I turned to Mason, who was shaking his head with a grin. “You know, I might just get you back for this.”

“Oh, I’m ready for whatever you’ve got! Just know, I’ll always be one step ahead,” I replied, feeling the warmth of our playful banter.

He smirked. “Next time, I’m the one pulling a prank! Just you wait.”

“Bring it on, Mount!” I laughed, excitement bubbling up inside me. This was just the beginning of our fun adventures, and I couldn’t wait to see what he had in store next.

[p0orbaby]

Sinners | Sloth

summary: leah’s lazy day takes a turn

warnings: SMUT 18+, sub!leah? i don’t know what to put here anymore

a/n: the midway point, three more parts to go

word count: 1.7k

Lust | Gluttony | Envy | Greed | Wrath | Pride

-

You hate stagnation.

You’re always doing something, always busy, always productive. If you’re not at work, you’re at the gym. If you’re not at the gym, you’re running errands, fixing things, organising every corner of your life like you’re preparing for a military inspection.

And then there’s Leah.

She’s the living embodiment of stale today. A sprawling heap of human on the sofa, wearing one of your old t-shirts that’s too big for her, and a pair of boxers she may or may not have stolen from your drawer. She hasn’t moved for hours, save for the occasional shift to grab the remote or to adjust the pillow that she’s squashing under her arm.

She’s watching something on Netflix, something she’s seen at least four times already because she knows all the words.

You glance at her from the kitchen, where you’ve been pretending to make dinner for the last twenty minutes. You’re pretending because you’ve already ordered a Chinese, but for some reason, you don’t want her to know that. Maybe it’s because you’re trying to convince yourself that you haven’t fully succumbed to this lazy day, that you’re still capable of doing something, anything productive.

“Do you even know what day it is?” you call out from the kitchen, hoping to jolt her into some semblance of awareness.

“Does it matter?” she calls back, her voice muffled by the blanket she’s partially buried under.

You open your mouth to argue, but then you catch sight of her. Her hair’s a mess, sticking out in random directions, and there’s a small spot of dribble on the corner of her mouth from when she dozed off earlier. She looks like a wreck, and it’s adorable, and suddenly you’re not sure if you want to disturb her at all.

“Leah,” you say, stepping into the living room with every intention of dragging her off the couch, if only to make her shower. But when you get closer, you see the look on her face. She’s content, truly content, in a way that makes you pause. You haven’t seen her like this in a while. She’s always on the go, always busy, always thinking about the next match, the next practice, the next thing she needs to perfect.

But right now, she’s just… still.

“I ordered takeaway,” you admit, because there’s no point in keeping up the charade anymore.

She just grins, her eyes half-closed. “You’ve joined the dark side”

“It’s not the dark side,” you argue, but it’s weak. You know it. She knows it.

“Come here,” she murmurs, shifting to make room for you on the couch.

You hesitate, because if you sit down, you’re not getting back up. You know that. But then Leah gives you that look, the one that’s half-plea, half-demand, and you’re powerless against it.

“Alright, but just for a minute,” you say, even though you’re lying and you both know it.

You sit down beside her, and she immediately curls into you, her head resting on your shoulder, her hand finding its way to your thigh. It’s lazy and unhurried, like everything else about this day, and you can feel the tension leaving your body as you settle into the couch.

“I think you’re a bad influence,” you say, but you don’t mean it. Not really.

“Probably,” she agrees, not bothering to argue.

You’re silent for a while, just listening to the sounds of the show she’s watching, some cheesy comedy that’s way too predictable but somehow perfect for a day like today.

“You know what would make this day better?” she asks after a while, her voice barely noticeable under the laugh track.

“What?”

“If you gave me a massage”

You laugh, but it’s a tired sound. “You want me to do all the work, huh?”

She nods against your shoulder. “I ran a lot yesterday. My legs are killing me”

You know you should say no. You should tell her to get up and stretch, or take a hot bath, or do literally anything that would require her to move. But instead, you find yourself agreeing.

“Fine,” you say, and you feel her grin against your shoulder.

You shift so she’s lying on her stomach, and you straddle her hips, your hands starting to work the knots out of her shoulders. She sighs, a deep, satisfied sound, and you feel a strange sense of accomplishment.

“This is the best decision you’ve made all day,” she mumbles, her voice muffled by the pillow.

“Glad I could contribute to your recovery,” you reply, but there’s no bite to it. You’re too relaxed, too comfortable, and the feel of her warm skin under your hands is too distracting.

You work your way down her back, your fingers pressing into the tight muscles along her spine, and Leah makes a sound that’s halfway between a moan and a groan. It sends a jolt of heat through you, and you pause for a second, wondering if she felt it too.

“Don’t stop,” she murmurs, her voice soft, almost drowsy.

You continue, but your hands aren’t as innocent as they were a moment ago. You’re touching her with more purpose now, your fingers tracing the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the swell of her hips. You’re not sure when it changed, when the touch went from comforting to something else, something more. But it has, and you can’t stop it now.

Leah shifts beneath you, and you can tell she feels it too. The air between you is thicker now, charged with something electric, something dangerous. You’re not sure if it’s the slowness of the day or the fact that you’ve both been pretending not to want this, but suddenly, you’re aching for her in a way that has nothing to do with relaxation.

“Leah,” you whisper, your hands stilling on her hips.

She turns her head to look at you, her eyes heavy-lidded but burning with something that’s definitely not weariness. “What?”

You don’t answer, because you’re too busy leaning down to press your lips to the back of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin. She shivers under you, and you feel her arch her back, pressing her hips up into yours.

“What are you doing?” she asks, but it’s breathless, like she’s already decided to let you do whatever you want.

“Nothing,” you lie, your hands sliding under the hem of the t-shirt she’s wearing, pushing it up so you can feel more of her skin.

“Doesn’t feel like nothing,” she murmurs, her voice tight with anticipation.

You don’t respond, because you’re preoccupied by pulling the fabric over her head, tossing it aside. She’s completely bare beneath you now, and the sight of her, all soft curves and smooth skin, is enough to make your mouth go dry.

You run your hands down her sides, feeling the way her muscles tense under your touch. She’s so beautiful like this, lazy and relaxed but still wanting you, still needing you.

You lean down, pressing kisses along her spine, feeling the way she shivers under your lips. Your hands move to her hips, gripping them tightly as you kiss your way down to the small of her back.

“Turn over,” you murmur, your voice low and rough.

She obeys, rolling onto her back, her eyes locked on yours. There’s something dark and dangerous in her stare now, and it sends a thrill of excitement straight through you.

You lean down, capturing her lips in a slow, languid kiss that’s anything but tired. It’s full of heat and need, and you can feel her responding, her hands sliding up to grip your shoulders as she pulls you closer.

You take your time, kissing her slowly, teasingly, your hands exploring every inch of her body. She’s warm and soft beneath you, and you can’t get enough of the way she feels, the way she tastes.

Leah moans into your mouth, and you swallow the sound, your hands moving down to cup her breasts, your thumbs brushing over her nipples. She arches into your touch, her breath hitching, and you can feel the heat pooling low in your belly.

“Please,” she whispers, her voice barely more than a breath.

You smile against her lips, because you know what she wants, but you’re not ready to give it to her just yet. You want to make her wait, make her beg for it, because there’s something intoxicating about having her like this, completely at your mercy.

You kiss your way down her body, taking your time, savoring every inch of her. She’s shuddering beneath you now, her breath coming in short, shallow pants, and you can feel her growing more and more desperate with every passing second.

When you finally reach her hips, you pause, looking up at her. Her eyes are dark with need, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and you can see the way her hands are fisting the blanket, like she’s trying to hold on to the last shred of her control.

“Please,” she whispers again, and this time there’s no mistaking the desperation in her voice.

You don’t make her wait any longer. You lower your head, your mouth finding her center, and the taste of her is enough to make your own breath hitch.

Leah moans, her back arching off the sofa as you start to move your tongue, slow and deliberate, teasing her just enough to drive her crazy.

“Fuck,” she breathes, her hands tangling in your hair as she tries to pull you closer.

You don’t let up, your mouth working her with a skill that comes from knowing exactly how to push her over the edge.

You know she’s close, but you don’t stop, don’t let up, until she’s crying out, her body convulsing under your touch as she comes apart in your arms.

When it’s over, she’s left gasping, her body limp and boneless, and you can’t help but feel a surge of pride at the sight of her like this, completely undone.

You crawl back up her body, lying beside her, your arms wrapping around her as she snuggles into your side.

“Relaxing enough for you?” you murmur, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She laughs, a soft, contented sound, and you can feel the way her body relaxes against yours. “Yeah,” she says, her voice sleepy. “But I could do with a little more of that later”

You smile, pulling her closer. “Anytime”

[4ranghaes]

Heyy so like I atumbled across ypur page, stalked it and immediately followed, I would ABSOLUTELY LOVE for you to write an extended version of Mum's recipe I live for the whole dynamic and its so cute!! If you do, I will eat it up, THANKYOU THANKYOUU

omg my first request🥺😛😛🫰 love this trope so much so OF COURSE!!! hope you enjoy :)

-> park sungho x reader [fluff, fem!reader (use of noona)]

-> bnd masterlist!

the smell of home-cooked food filled the six boys’ senses as they opened the front door. an ominous text from y/n to sungho reading: ‘make sure all of you come home to the lower dorm’ suddenly making sense.

jaehyun’s eyes widened, turning to look at sungho, who gave him a shrug and a confused look in return.

“ya! the smell!” jaehyun exclaimed, barging into the dorm first. he ran through the entrance, standing in the living room as he looked at your figure still standing over the stove. you turned to look at him, flashing a bright smile.

“you’re home!”

“noona!” woonhak interrupted you, “what is all this? oh my god!”

ever the over-excited one, he barged past his leader, heading into the kitchen as he stood behind you, easily looking over you and into the pan.

“ya! jaeyuk bokkeum!” he exclaimed, turning to look at leehan who had joined the two of you in the kitchen.

“look, eomok too,” leehan smiled, pointing at the various side dishes laid out on the side.

“can i try some?!” woohak asked, bobbing up and down beside you.

you rolled your eyes jokingly, pulling a piece of meat out the pan and blowing on it before feeding it straight to woonhak’s open mouth.

“you’ll all have to clean up before you sit and eat though, you stink!” you laughed, pushing the maknae away as soon as he’d had his fill - though not stopping his quick hands grabbing some kongnamul on the way past, riwoo swatting him away.

“i was really craving home cooked food,” taesan smiled, looking at sungho, “you said so too, right?”

sungho glanced at him, seemingly distracted as he agreed.

“alright, go and wash up. we’ll wait till everyone’s done to eat,” sungho said, pushing taesan towards the front door to go back to his own dorm; riwoo dragging woonhak for them to do the same.

sungho’s vision landed back on you; your figure facing away from him as you lovingly finished off the meal in the pan. his face formed a pout as he made his way over, eventually wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.

“what’s all this?” he hummed, kissing the shell of your ear lightly.

“well, i came by earlier to drop something off and i saw way too many takeaway and snack containers,” you lightly scolded, making sungho chuckle. “and i thought about how you and the kids probably haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a while, so…”

sungho smiled, his heart swelling with love and pride at your caring words.

“here, try,” you instructed, feeding him a piece of meat straight from the pan. sungho let go of your waist, finding the kitchen counter next to you to lean against. you watched his face as he chewed, his eyes suddenly widening as he nodded.

“darling, that’s delicious!” he exclaimed.

you smiled, quietly proud of yourself, “good.”

“i’m serious! it tastes just like my mum’s!”

“oh i’m so glad!” you laughed, confusing sungho as your smile overtook your face, “i called and asked her for the recipe! i didn’t know if i could do it very well, cause i think she uses fresh ingredients and all of these are jarred or canned, and she recommended a lot of banchans too and those were surprisingly hard! but—”

sungho cut you off, grabbing your body and pulling you into his chest. one strong hand on your back, the other cupping the back of your head as you giggled into his chest, returning the hug, you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“thank you,” he murmured into the top of your head, “seriously. thank you. this is all so thoughtful, and i just… i love you. so much.”

your heart leaped, eyes tearing up at his heartfelt confession. you squeezed him tighter into the hug.

“ah, enough! go and shower, you smell,” you said suddenly, pulling away from the cuddle. sungho laughed, shaking his wet hair like a shaggy dog. “stop! oh my god, gross boy.” sungho laughed harder, kissing your head as he left the kitchen.

“noona, i’m finished!” woonhak exclaimed, suddenly appearing in the doorway.

“woonhak-ah, your hair’s not even wet,” sungho spoke, grabbing the boy’s body and turning him back towards the front door, “go.”

woonhak grumbled, stomping back to the upper dorm. sungho rolled his eyes, disappearing into the bathroom.

you finished off the jaeyuk-bokkeum, dispensing it into the biggest bowl they had – you’d made a lot of food for the 6 hungry boys. getting the instant rice out the microwave, you scooped the 7 portions into individual bowls for each of the boys, plus yourself, placing them around the dining table with chopsticks and spoons.

“do you need help, y/n?” taesan asked, a towel draped over his wet hair, pyjamas donning his body as he strolled into the kitchen.

“not really! just need to put everything on the table now.”

taesan nodded, wordlessly helping by grabbing the various bowls and plates of banchan, arranging them in the middle of the table.

“i had to physically put him in the shower and turn it on,” riwoo sighed, appearing in the living room of the lower dorm.

you giggled, as taesan looked round, confused. “who?”

“who do you think? woonhak, obviously.”

taesan rolled his eyes with a laugh, beginning to pick at the kimchi as he sat at the table. riwoo came towards him, gasping as he pulled out a chair.

“jaeyuk-bokkeum?! dubu-jorim?!” he exclaimed, looking to taesan who just nodded in agreement. “ya, y/n. i’m serious right now when i say i love you.”

you laughed, finishing the table with a plate of eggs on the table, not knowing who would want one on top, and who wouldn’t.

“get in line!” taesan exclaimed, laughing, “but also, don’t let sungho hear us saying that.”

“hear what? telling y/n how much we love her?” jaehyun asked, joining the conversation as he jumped into one of the dining chairs. riwoo and taesan nodded as jaehyun scoffed, “he can get in line as far as i’m concerned. y/n, if he ever doesn’t treat you right, you know where i am.”

“of course she does, you’re in the next bed!” leehan joked, coming and sitting next to taesan, immediately picking up his chopsticks and picking at the eomok.

sungho suddenly walked out of his bedroom, a towel around his neck, pyjama pants sitting on his hips and an oversized t-shirt covering his torso.

“no chance for us, though, i fear,” jaehyun smiled, watching your face light up as you watched sungho walk in the room. the boys laughed slightly, as you didn’t even notice his words.

“oh sorry, am i holding us up?” sungho asked as he walked beside you, kissing your shoulder as he sat.

“no. still waiting for woonhak-ie,” you smiled, fixing his wet hair from sticking to his forehead.

sungho scoffed, “hopefully he’s finally having a shower.”

“yeah, after i made him,” riwoo rolled his eyes.

as if on cue, a crashing sound appeared at the door, woonhak running into the living room of the lower dorm.

“ah, slow down, slow down! you’ll hurt yourself, baby!” jaehyun exclaimed, grabbing woonhak and pulling him to sit in the chair next to him, his arm around woonhak not letting go even as he sat.

“okay, finally!” riwoo exclaimed, the boys all moving to start digging into their food as you watched on proudly.

sungho coughed loudly, all the members stopping in their tracks as he made furious facial expressions to them, silently signalling.

“oh,” riwoo spoke up first, “thank you, y/n.”

“of course!” jaehyun yelled, “thank you y/n!”

the boys yelled a chorus of ‘thank you’s and ‘i’ll eat well’s before they all tucked into the food, scooping spoonfuls after spoonfuls of meat.

“don’t forget the banchans! i worked so hard on those,” you laughed, looking to finally help yourself to some meat after the barricade of hands had gone.

sungho’s chopsticks got there before yours, picking out the biggest pieces of meat he could find and laying them over your rice. you rolled your eyes, fighting a smile as you looked at him, only offering you a smile in reply before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“ew! i’m literally eating here,” taesan said, looking at you two with a disgusted face.

sungho glared at him through a mouthful of food, swallowing it quickly before grabbing your face and kissing your lips. you slapped his broad shoulders repeatedly, hearing wolf-whistles and hollers from the boys until he pulled away, wiping your lips with his thumb cockily.

“i heard that conversation earlier, by the way,” he said, going back to his food as if nothing happened, “you’re all on thin ice.”

[muxshwriting]

the winner takes it all

Nico Rosberg x Hamilton!reader

summary: after 2016, nico cut you and your brother off. you reach out to him, wanting him to know you would always be his || warnings: slight angst, abandonment, threats || word count: 1328 || masterlist

It had been a hectic year, dating your brother's teammate who he was currently rivals with. The boys you'd grown up with had changed and evolved and grown ever more distant from each other. You'd spent most of the season juggling your emotions, trying not to celebrate too much when either of them one so the other didn't feel upset.

But as Nico crossed the line as World Champion, you couldn't hide your elation. The moment he was out of the car, he was jumping into the arms of his team. A part of your heart aches for Lewis, your brother, knowing how hard he had worked for this Championship, only to lose at the last second. But the pure joy that flowed through you dictated your actions as you threw yourself at Nico as he cheered. He pulled off his helmet, holding your head in his hands and pulling you in for a kiss.

"You won!" You're shouting over the crowd but Nico is nodding and grinning like a kid all over again.

"I won!"

Behind him, Lewis was watching his own sister congratulate the man who had just ruined his life instead of comforting her brother. How can Nico be so smug about taking everything Lewis had dreamed of? He was so nonchalant throughout interviews, as if he knew this was always meant to happen. But Lewis couldn't stop himself feeling bitter.

Nico could have the championship, Lewis could earn himself another. But Nico would not take everything from him, he would not take his sister. He watched his team celebrate from the sidelines, watched as his sister kissed and danced with the man she loved, the man he now hated. Tonight would be the last night he would come anywhere near his sister.

Whatever your brother did, you certainly noticed its affects even if you didn't know the reasoning behind them. Nico did not speak to again after the night he won the championship. Or any day after that.

In the beginning, you just assumed he was busy with interviews and stories, too busy to text you back or find the time to come and see you. But as time went on and he declined all your calls, it became obvious this wasn't a time issue. This was something else.

No matter where you went in Monaco, you could not find him. He didn't frequent the places you had shared, stayed away from your work and ignored anything you tried to reach out with.

"I don't understand Lew, he's not the kind of person that would do this, I don't know what happened." You're sitting in your brother's apartment, binging episodes of a random reality show and trying to figure it out.

"Maybe he thought he was too good now he's won the championship." Lewis felt bad for his sister, yes. But he was also glad Nico had realised what was good for him.

You wipe away tears. "We always talked about life after the championship was over, whether he won or you did. We were gonna move in together, take some time for ourselves, figure out if this was forever..."

"He mustn't think it was forever then."

"Then he should've told me that to my face, not completely blank me."

Two weeks later, by sheer coincidence you're sitting in the cafe you and Nico had often visited and he walked through the doors. He didn't notice you at first, ordering a takeaway and waiting by the counter. Quietly, you pack your bag and stand by the door, trying to catch him on his way out.

"Nico!"

He said nothing, his eyes widening as he recognised you. Nodding politely, he tried to push past you, not meeting your eyes.

"Nico?"

He finally met your gaze, swallowing the lump in his throat. "It's good to see you Y/N. I -"

"You’re gonna stay the fuck away from my sister, alright? I don’t want you to talk to her ever again."

"Lewis-"

"No! You won't talk to either of us again. You're nothing. You don't deserve her, and the sooner you realise that, the better off she is. She knows she's better off without you."

"Can we talk?" You ask.

Nico shakes his head. "There's nothing to talk about." He walks out the door but you follow.

"We need to talk about it Nico." You implore him. "Nico?"

"There's nothing to say."

"There's plenty to say Nico. Listen to me, please! I loved you, I still love you." You say. "Even after everything that happened, I never stopped. Why did you stop letting me see you?"

"Lewis told me to stay away. And you're better without me-"

"What?"

Nico turned to face you. "Lewis? He told me that you would be better without me, that you said that."

You're face is plastered with confusion. "Lewis told you not to talk to me? But- I never said that. Why does Lewis think he can control who I love?" As you were speaking, the anger grew. "Why did you listen to him?"

"Because he's right. You deserve more than me."

"Don't say that!" You quickly reply. "I don't care what my brother thinks, you are the world champion. You deserve everything, especially me! He can have any model he wants, all the races, all the wins, all the championships but I want you. I want to have you and I want to be happy with you."

Nico’s expression sours. “We’re not doing this here, not now.”

"I want you!" You yell after him, not caring who else heard. "Only you."

"Your brother-"

"Stop talking about my brother!" You beg him. "Please, I love you Nico."

He sighs, running a hand down his face. "Alright," he gestures you to follow him, "We need to talk somewhere more private."

Silently agreeing, you grabbed his hand and led him through the winding streets of Monaco until you reached his apartment building. He hadn't moved yet and as he unlocked the door, you let yourself admire the man you would always love. Nothing inside the apartment had changed except the pictures hanging on the wall.

Nico had a wall of pictures that you had helped him create. They were moments from his karting career, his life and his relationship with you. There was a new picture in pride of place at the very top of the wall, the place he put his favourite. It was a picture of the day he won his championship, a picture of you and him in a lovers embrace, confetti falling around you and sweat dripping from his hair. It was the perfect picture that captured everything you and him were.

"That's new." You point to the picture and look at Nico hopeful.

"Yeah." He smiles. "The team photographer sent me the original and I couldn't think of a better place to put it."

You took the chance and stepped closer to Nico, almost pressing your body against his. You felt the sharp intake of breath from him as he tucked a loose hair behind your ear.

"Are you sure?"

You're nodding before he's even finished. "We're gonna move in together, and take some time for us. And I know it's going to work because this is what I want in forever. I want you to my forever."

"Will you marry me?" He whispered the question like he didn't quite believe what he was saying.

"Yes." You immediately answer before Nico can backtrack. "Yes. Please."

Nico stepped back and shook his head slightly. "Wait- Y/N, just wait. I don't know why I said that."

"Are you trying to take it back?"

"No!" He hurriedly corrects. "I think we need to go slow. I haven't talked to you in three weeks."

"Three weeks don't matter, we know each other, we know that this works. Why do we have to wait?"

Nico couldn't hide his smile as he dipped his head to press his lips against yours.

"Why wait indeed..."

[moonstruckme]

Hey girl 💖 Would love a comfort fic with James or poly!Marauders after r had a really bad day? Just cuddles and comforting words. Sure most of us need it right now 💖

Thanks for requesting my love <3 I did try to make this seem like it could just be about any bad day but for my US babes and anyone else that's going to be affected by the election, I really hope you're doing okay and I hope we're all okay over the next few years. Even if we don't all have a James to comfort us, we can still be there for each other <3

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 607 words

You’re in bed when James finishes brushing his teeth. He can see your shoulders shaking underneath the covers. 

His chest aches as he goes to you. It’s not the first time you’ve cried today and it probably won’t be the last for a while, all your hurt and anger and grief compounding on you as time goes on. James gets into bed and twines his arms around your middle, pressing his nose into your warm cheek. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs. 

Your sobs worsen, and you turn, face to his chest and arms reaching around him with an unthinking neediness. You don’t believe him. 

“It is.” He kisses the top of your head firmly, hugging you closer. You seem like you need a bit of solidity right now. “You’ll be alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you.” 

James lets you cry. Your sniffles grow thick, James’ chest under your face wet with tears and snot. He wonders if your head hurts from how much you’ve wept today, makes a mental note to get you some water in the morning if he can’t manage it tonight. Your whole body shakes with deep, aching sobs. 

“I’m sorry,” you say after a while, words jolting. “I can’t—I keep thinking in circles.” 

“Baby, it’s okay.” James rubs your back. He hates to see you upset, but he wouldn’t begrudge you it. You’ve had a day. As much as he wishes he never had to see you cry, he feels grateful that you’d do it with him. “It’s okay to be sad for a little while.” 

“I know. I know, but—” Another series of sobs jostles their way out of you, painful sounding. Your voice quiets to a tight whisper. “I just can’t stop.” 

James swallows the blockage in his own throat, making big, sweeping circles over your back. “Do you want a little distraction?” he offers. 

You nod into his chest. 

“Okay.” He thinks for a second. “Well, tomorrow, I thought we might go to the bookstore if you’re feeling up to it.” He pauses, waiting to see if this is what you want. When you don’t make a sound he continues. “We could make a day of it. There’s that Thai place you like nearby, so maybe we grab some takeaway, sit and read in the park…” You make a snuffling sound against his chest, and James gives you a squeeze. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Your voice is stuffy and sad, but calmer. “That sounds nice.” 

“I glanced at the weather report earlier.” He drops a kiss on your head. It coaxes you into looking up at him. Your eyes are wet and puffy, but James smiles at you, pinching your nose clean gently. “It’s supposed to be nice out. We’ll probably need our coats, but still, not too bad. You could break out those new socks you got.” 

You smile wobbily. “It feels like sort of a silly thing to be excited about now,” you say softly, “socks.” 

“That’s what I love about you, though.” James holds your face and gives in to kissing wherever the urge strikes him, your skin warm and tacky. “You’re always finding things to be excited about, that make you happy. I love that. It’s the little things, right?” 

You sniffle. You’re far from happy now, but you’re settling. “I guess.” 

“It’s nice when it’s the big things too, of course,” he concedes, “but for tomorrow I can still get my girl a book and a takeaway. Right? Okay?” 

“Yeah.” You kiss him, salt on both of your lips. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Jamie.” 

“You’ll be okay,” he promises you again. “I’ve always got you.”

[livin4woso]

Acrylics (alessia russo x reader)

Summary- It's finally off-season, and alessia wants you to come on holiday with her. However, due to your job being demanding work, you're a bit hesitant about going. But alessia knows how to get what she wants, and all she needs is acrylics to turn you to putty.

"Please come with me the girls haven't seen you since the nations leauge and ive missed spending time with you" alessia begs you as you stand in the kitchen helping her cook "you know i would less but im not sure i can even get the time off because we are short Staffed" you replied.

Its not as if you were trying too avoid the holiday you would have jumped at the chance immediately however your job as a firefighter meant it was much harder to get time off works and your station was understaffed so leaving them one man shorter wasn't going to help your co workers or the community.

However, alessia knew how stubborn you were for the dedication you had to your job, but she knew exactly how to get her way. The next day, she went to go get her nails done as now she could have nails without the risk of them being ripped off or accidentally hurting another player when playing. Unlike normal, she got her nails a little bit longer as if you weren't gonna say yes to her holiday wide awake. She knew you would with a bit of bribery.

It was around 6pm when you came crashing into the house, dumping your bag by the door. "Hi love, how was work?" Alessia asked from the couch. "It was alright, but it's so busy with the amount of calls we've been getting, so im not in the mood to do anything tonight," you replied, walking in and pecking her on the lips. "Well, why don't you shower, and then we can cuddle on the couch, and I'll order us a takeaway?" she replied, smiling at you. "Yeah, that sounds good" you replied.

You returned to the couch in a pair of grey sweats and alessias arsenal hoddie that she swore you looked better in. "Come here love" she said love laced through her tone and she didnt have to tell you twice as you dropped yourself right next to her on your L shaped sofa your head in her lap as she put on netflix. However, unlike normal, you just couldn't relax as tension radiated through your body due to being so overworked. Alessia knew you needed this break as much as she did, but she didn't want to push you.

She began by gently scratching your scalp and carding her fingers through your hair, and it was if a switch was flicked, your body began to relax into her touch, which is when she sprung the question on you "so love i was just wondering if you would come to ibiza with me.. it would only be for a week and it would be good for you" she started still massaging your scalp "mhm i dont know lessi i really want too but its whether they'll give me time off" you say eyes slowly dropping as sleep consumed you.

"Why dont you call them now and just ask if they say no, then it would save us trying to book later again if you could come," she suggested, knowing that you would. " Yeah, you're right. Pass me my phone" you said, sitting up from her lap. The conversation was quick with you being suprised how easy your boss was willing to let you have time off but said he understood that this was the time you and your girlfriend could go on holiday together. "He said i can so you can let your girls know im coming" you said to her and her face lit up knowing you wouldn't have done it if you weren't melting under her touch without even realising.

"So how about more head scratches, please?" You turned to her, and this time flopped right on top of the smaller blonde as her hand returned to your head. "Oo, and while you're at it, can you scratch my back as well?" you said, pushing your luck. "Im not your personal servant, you know, but you're cute, so I'll let you off," she responded, a light laugh leaving her lips. She continued until you fell asleep as your breaths tickled the crook of her neck where you had buried your head.

However, she wouldn't change it for the world as she knew at the end of the day you would have walked to the end of the earth for her, but now it was time for a relaxing holiday. Well, not so relaxing due to the constant partying, but that's the best part of the holiday, the moments where you forget your responsibilities, and it's just you and lessi, and that's it.

[bgwlsmahf25]

After All This Time

Pairings: mom!Natasha x teendaughter!Reader; Wanda x Natasha; Wanda x teendaughter!Reader (platonic); Kate x reader

Genre: little bit of angst; fluff

“Something smells good. Hey, sweetheart, how was school?” Natasha dropped her bag by the kitchen doorway and gave you a one-armed hug, depositing her takeaway coffee mug and lunchbox in the sink.

“Hey mom, school was good.” You added a box of pasta to the boiling water on the stove and continued to stir the sauce you’d made. “Mrs Kenton thinks I should minor in business, she said I’d manage with it.” You looked at your mom. “I’m just not sure what I should do, y’know?”

“Well, you talked about it a lot. And you told Steve that you were majoring in psychology with a minor in business. I thought your mind was made up on that front?” She pushed some hair out of your face and kissed the top of your head. “What’s holding you back?”

“Tell you over dinner?”

“Hmm.” She gave you a look then nodded and began setting the table.

“Alright, hit me with it,” Natasha said, sitting down as you ladled pasta and sauce onto her plate. “Mmm, this looks good.”

“I should hope so, I spent ages slaving over the stove,” you laughed. “It’s that vodka tomato pasta sauce thing that’s been all over my feed lately.”

“As long as you didn’t use my nice vodka,” your mom warned.

“No, of course not.” You sat down and began to eat, then looked up to find her watching you. “What?” She raised an eyebrow and you sighed. “Um, ok, we can talk about it. I just don’t want to move away for college. I want to stay in the city or one of the neighbouring states.”

“I’m assuming there’s a reason you don’t want to leave New York,” your mom prompted.

“There's someone,” you reluctantly admitted. “Someone who means more to me, the more time I spend with them. I don’t want a long-distance relationship.”

“A relationship, huh?” Natasha was thoughtful. The last time you’d been in a relationship was over two years ago. “What’s his name?” You hesitated, biting at your lip. Slowly, you looked up to meet your mom’s gaze. Her expression shifted. “What’s her name?”

“Kate.” You reached out, taking your mom’s hand in yours. “Are you ok with this? With me being gay, I mean?”

“Honey, of course I’m ok with it!” she exclaimed, getting up and rushing around the table to pull you into a hug. “I’m honoured that you shared it with me, that you felt you could come out to me. Of course I’m ok with it.”

“Thanks mom,” you whispered, hugging her tightly.

“So,” Natasha said, sitting back down in her seat and spearing a forkful of pasta, “how long have you two been…?” Your mom’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Do we need to have the talk?”

“Mom, we already had the talk when I was dating that guy!” you laughed. “Ew, no, we don’t need to have the talk.”

“So when can I meet her? And you didn’t answer my question,” she said, playfully wagging a finger at you. She scooped the pasta into her mouth.

You rolled your eyes. “We’ve been together for just over a month. And no, you can’t meet her yet. I want you to meet her, just not that soon.”

“Hmmm, ok.”

***

A few weeks later

“You didn’t tell her I was an Avenger?” Kate said, pushing her hair out of her face. “Surely that would have been a good idea.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. I just - I wanted to tell her about me and not so much about the relationship, but being my mom, she wanted to know all about that too.” You lent your head on her shoulder, smiling as she wrapped an arm around you.

You and Kate were on a date. She’d taken you out for dinner and then the two of you had found an empty rooftop where you could look out across New York.

“We’re coming to the compound next week,” you murmured.

Kate sat up and looked at you. “You are? Finally!”

“Me and my mom. If you give me heart eyes, she’ll know.”

“Why’s it so bad if she knows? She already knows my name. She’s probably worked out that it’s me anyway. It won’t take her long to put the information you gave her through one of her databases.”

“My mom wouldn’t track you,” you scoffed, then sighed as Kate looked at you. “Nope, that’s exactly what she’d do. She did it with my exes, even before I told her.”

“Great, I’m on her hit list now,” Kate sighed and you frowned reproachfully at her. “Ok, ok, that wasn’t fair of me.” She leant in and gave you a soft kiss, making you smile. “Are you going to tell her? Y’know, before you come to the compound.”

“Maybe,” you teased. “If it’ll keep you on your best behaviour, then yes.”

“I’m always behaving!” she protested, making you laugh and pull her in for another kiss.

***

“You’re very quiet.” Natasha looked over at you. “What are you reading?”

“Just a book.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s for school. Something Mrs Kenton wants us to read for psychology.” You flipped the page of your textbook, but your mind wasn’t on your studies. You were thinking about Kate being at the compound and how the first meeting between her and your mom was going to go.

“What’s on your mind?” Natasha said softly. “I can tell you’re not reading, nobody turns the pages that fast.”

She’d caught you. You sighed and shut the book. “My girlfriend’s going to be at the compound. I know you’ve already tracked her down, read through her file or whatever SHIELD’s got on her.”

“Oh. No, sweetheart, I hadn’t looked -” Your mom paused. “Wait. You said her name was Kate. Are you dating Kate Bishop?”

Crap. Now you were well and truly stuffed. You bit your lip and blushed, looking down at your lap, your fingers twisting through each other. “Yes,” you said quietly.

“Someone’s blushing,” your mom teased. She pulled over abruptly and reached out, turning your face to hers. “Honey, I’m not mad. I hadn’t looked her up in a database. I wanted you to tell me in your own time. Besides, I heard Yelena teasing Kate about her new girlfriend and from what you’d told me… I just put two and two together but I didn’t look into it. I wanted you to come to me.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No, sweetheart, I’m not.” She pulled you into a hug. “I’m happy for you. And I’m really proud of you for telling me. I wanted it to be your choice.”

You smiled. “Ok, can we head to the compound now?”

“Eager to see a special someone?”

“Mom!”

***

You’d messaged Kate and updated her so as Natasha pulled into the parking garage, Kate was waiting nervously by the elevators. You ran over and pulled her into a hug, leaning your forehead against hers.

“Hey,” you whispered.

“She’s ok with it?” Kate said, looking over your shoulder to where Natasha was watching the two of you.

“Yes!” you said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Ok, lovebirds, come and help me with the bags,” Natasha called.

“Hi,” Kate said, sticking her hand out once she reached Natasha. “I’m Kate.”

“Kate, there’s no need for that. I’ve trained with you for over a year. Come here,” and you smiled, watching your mom pull your girlfriend into a hug.

Later that evening

“Thanks for dinner, Auntie Wanda,” you said to Wanda. The witch had cooked one of her native Sokovian dishes for team dinner. It had been an evening of laughter and settling in. Natasha needed to be at the compound for a week. You were fine with the sudden holiday, but she’d reminded you to stay up to date on your studies. Kate sat next to you at dinner, Yelena on your other side, and the three of you caught up. Occasionally, you noticed your mom glancing at the three of you and smiling. You also noticed her looking at Wanda, but her expression was one you couldn’t read.

“You’re welcome, little krolik [bunny],” she said, slipping the term of endearment in. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“See you tomorrow,” you said, slipping out of the kitchen. You noticed your mom standing in the doorway, apparently hesitant. “Mom. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. I just need to brief Wanda on something. I’ll come and find you in a bit.”

“Oh actually, I was going to ask if I can stay in Kate’s room?” You blurted out, amazed at your sudden confidence.

Your mom thought for a moment then nodded, taking you by surprise. “Yes, I suppose that’s ok. No funny business, though.”

“Mom!” She laughed as you ran down the hall towards the bedrooms. She didn’t see you look back, watching as she squared her shoulders and headed into the kitchen. Something was going on and it made you worried.

***

“Hey, you’re very quiet. And you don’t want to cuddle. What’s wrong?” Kate was sitting up in her bed, leaning against the headboard, watching you with a concerned expression.

“I’m fine,” you replied, leaning your head against the cool glass of her window. You were sitting on her windowsill, staring into nothingness, Kate’s room reflected in the glass.

“You’re not fine.” She got out of bed and came over, wrapping her arms around you and leaning her head on your shoulder. “You’re tense. What’s wrong, angel?” She gently massaged your shoulders, pulling the tension out of you.

“Something’s up with my mom,” you sighed. “She always tells me what’s going on but she was acting weird at dinner and then I don’t know, there was a moment in the kitchen just now. She’s worried about something and it’s making me worried because I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Can you talk to her?”

“I tried but she brushed it off. Oh, and I asked if I could stay in your room tonight and she just said yes, no hesitation. Normally, I’d have to push to get her permission on something like this, but she just… let me.” You sighed. “Am I reading too much into this?”

“Yes, my love, I think you might be. It’s ok though, I’ve got training scheduled with her tomorrow morning. I can normally gauge how it’s going to go, so I’ll know if something’s off and I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, leaning against Kate.

The two of you got into bed. You snuggled up against your girlfriend, but your mind was racing. Your mom’s behaviour was out of character and it unsettled you. She’d adopted you when you were twelve, it had been hard for her to gain your trust. Then you started at a new school and got bullied, coming home with bruises and tear tracks on your cheeks. Natasha had quickly realised something was wrong and pushed for you to change to a new school, which you loved being at. Since that event, the two of you shared a very close bond and told each other everything.

You knew she kept details of her work under wraps, not wanting you to hear about the missions she’d been on, or even that she couldn’t share some of the details if they were classified. But this wasn’t to do with work. She wanted to brief Wanda on something, but you instinctively knew that it wasn’t about work. Something had happened between your mom and Wanda, you were sure of it. You just didn’t know what.

Kate fell asleep and you rolled over, grabbing your phone. Unlocking it, you saw a message from Natasha.

Everything ok? Sleep well xx

You hesitated, then typed a response, your fingers flying over the keyboard:

Everything’s ok here. Kate’s asleep, but I’m not. Can we talk, now please xx

Of course. Meet you in the corridor in 5

***

Kate had barely stirred as you slipped out of bed, threw on one of her hoodies which was lying on the floor and left her room, shoving your feet into your sneakers. Natasha was just emerging from her room down the hall, she smiled when she saw you, then pointed to the elevator.

There was only the quiet hum of the lift as the two of you headed for the rooftop. You hadn’t been up here that often but you knew Natasha liked it. You leant against her and she put an arm around you, kissing the top of your head.

“Wow, it’s changed up here,” you said, looking around. Three picnic tables were joined together and someone had started a garden. There were long, low planters against the far side of the rooftop. You could just about make out the small green shrubs in them.

“Yes. I can’t remember when we last came up here,” Natasha mused, heading for one of the picnic tables. You followed her and sat down opposite her, reaching out and putting your hands in hers. She looked at you but you spoke before she could.

“Mom, what’s going on with you? Please don’t tell me you’re fine, I know that something’s wrong. You seem really sad.” Your mom looked away from you sharply, taking in a deep breath before sighing and turning to look at you again. You noticed her eyes were filled with unshed tears and you jumped up, going and sitting next to her and leaning into her. “Mom?”

“Oh, sweetheart…” She began, but her voice was thick. “I should have told you about this ages ago, but it’s not news that I want everyone to know.” She glanced at you and you nodded, knowing that you were to keep it from Kate. “I didn’t know how to tell you at the time… I was trying to protect you.”

“Mom, you’re scaring me,” you said, fear creeping into your voice. “Are you sick? What’s going on?”

“No, no, darling, I’m not sick. I just… I went through something with someone. But it didn’t last.”

“You had a relationship?” You hesitated, then asked the question in your mind anyway. “Was it with Auntie Wanda?”

She looked at you then let out a watery chuckle. “Nothing escapes you, does it?”

“Is that a yes?”

She nodded, then wiped the tears from her eyes. “Yes, it was. It was brief and we kept it very private, but it didn’t last. There was too much pressure, from others, from the outside world, from ourselves.”

“Is this your first time seeing her since it ended?” You took your mom’s hand in yours, snuggling up to her to stay warm. She unlaced your fingers and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into her side. “And so you’re sad because it’s hard to be around her?”

“You are way too perceptive for your own good,” she chuckled, making you smile. “No, it ended quite some time ago. Years, in fact. It’s just… she was seeing someone. Which prevented me from saying anything. But that’s not a thing anymore either apparently.”

“I think you should tell her how you feel,” you said, eyes lighting up. “I can help! I’ll cook dinner, make it all nice and cosy.”

“That’s very sweet of you to offer, but nothing’s going to happen.”

“But you’re sad,” you said, staring at Natasha with pleading eyes. “And I don’t like seeing my mom sad, especially if there’s a way to fix it.”

“Honey… I don’t think she wants to fix it,” Natasha said quietly, taking your hands into hers. “I talked to her earlier this evening, but she didn’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s not what I said,” a voice spoke out of the darkness, making you both jump. Natasha pushed you behind her and took a defensive stance, before relaxing as Wanda walked out of the shadows.

***

You sat between the two women, looking from one to the other like you were watching tennis, as they spoke.

“You twisted my words,” Wanda said, a sad smile on her face. “I never said that I didn’t want to talk about it. I just said, not right now.”

“But what does that mean?” Natasha never took her eyes from Wanda’s face. “Does that mean you want to talk in a few days, a few weeks, a few months?”

“Ah, truth be told, I was holding off for your sake, little krolik,” Wanda said, turning her gaze to you. “I knew your mom hadn’t told you, otherwise you’d be looking at me like you are right now. And I didn’t want to jeopardise anything.”

“You wouldn’t have!” you said, pausing as Natasha placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you head to bed now?” Your mom turned to you. “It’s getting late and I think Wanda and I have some catching up to do.”

“Don’t make any rash decisions,” you whispered, leaning in and giving your mom a hug. “But don’t say no if your heart’s saying yes.”

“Alright, mom,” she laughed, tussling your hair affectionately. “Off with you now.”

You leant in and gave Wanda a hug, whispering, “She wants to say yes, and I know you do too.”

Wanda’s eyes were sparkling with amusement when you pulled away and walked to the elevator. The last thing you saw before the doors shut was your mom and Wanda, hands in each other’s, talking intently.

***

“Morning sleepyhead,” Kate said, leaning over you with a big smile on her face. “Someone slept in late.”

“Uhh, what time is it?” you groaned, rubbing your eyes and stretching.

“7.30. That’s late for you!”

“How would you know?” You sat up and took the glass of orange juice she was holding out. “Have you been watching me sleep?”

“No, dummy, I’ve been at training. Besides, when we first started talking, you texted promptly at 7am every morning.”

“I had school!” You couldn’t help but take in your girlfriend’s training kit. She had a mustard yellow hoodie on, which you recognised as yours, and a pair of black leggings. “How was training?”

“It was good. And before you ask, I saw your mom. She’s ok, she seemed to be in good spirits. Oh, and she said that she wants to talk to you when you’ve got a moment.”

“Did she say where?”

“Just in the kitchen at breakfast. Although she’s eaten now, I think she means your breakfast.” Kate shrugged. “I didn’t really ask her about the particulars. I’m still getting used to the whole ‘your mom knows about us’ thing, and I was trying not to be awkward around her, but I think I kind of messed it up. So, we were on the mat, and she was trying to teach me a new move from one of her martial arts things and I may have called her ‘mom.’ Anyway it got a bit awkward and I was just staring at her, trying to think of how to apologise and…”

You cut Kate off mid-ramble, pulling her on top of you and kissing her, wrapping your arms around her. “I can talk to my mom later. If it’s urgent, she’ll come and find me. For now, I just want to stay here, like this. If that’s ok with you.”

Kate smiled and kissed you again, murmuring a ‘yes’ against your lips.

***

“Someone’s a late riser,” Natasha commented, when you finally swung by the conference room where she was hanging out. She pushed some photos and documents into a folder and closed it.

“It’s a Saturday,” you grumbled, sinking into the seat next to her. “I’m allowed a lie-in.”

“Ok, teenager,” she said, grinning at you. “Just make sure you get some of that psychology paper done today, please.”

“Yes, mom,” you sighed. “Anyway, you wanted to talk to me?”

She got up and shut the door. “Yes, I did. Wanda and I talked some more last night, but also this morning. We want to give it another go, but only if you’re cool with it.”

“I’m cool with it,” you gasped happily, leaping up and flinging your arms around your mom. “I’m so totally 100% cool with it!”

“My daughter’s malfunctioning,” she teased, but there was a smile on her face. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to say yes if you don’t feel that way.”

“Mom, I’m saying yes in a big way. Don’t ruin the moment,” and you pulled her into another hug.

There was a knock at the door. You both looked over to see Wanda standing outside. Your mom glanced at you and you nodded, smiling. She opened the door and spoke briefly to Wanda, giving her a kiss on the cheek before disappearing into the corridor. Wanda shut the door and turned to you. You realised that she was nervous.

“Do I get to call you mom now too?” you blurted, making the witch smile. “Ohmygod, that was not what I meant to say. I am so sorry.”

Wanda pulled you into a tight hug, wrapping her arms tightly around you. You returned the hug gladly. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Thank you for talking some sense into her,” you chuckled. “Although I guess that was partly me as well.” You took a step back, taking Wanda in. “I guess the whole ‘if you break her heart, I will find you’ speech goes without saying?” She smiled and nodded. “Good. I just, she’s my mom, you know. I hurt when she’s hurting. So please don’t hurt her.”

“I’m not planning too, y/n. I want to do my best to make both of you happy.”

“We can double date now!” You exclaimed, suddenly realising that you and Kate could go on dates with your mom and Wanda. “Ohmygod, this is going to be so cool!”

Wanda watched you with an amused smile on her face. She’d been introduced to you a few months after Natasha had officially adopted you and she’d watched the struggles your mom had gone through to connect with you. You’d clicked immediately with Wanda which had frustrated and upset Natasha, but once you and your mom got close, the two of you were inseparable.

***

A few months later

“Mom, you’d better be ready. They’ll be here any moment!” You shouted up the stairs, hopping around on one foot while you tried to pull your sneakers on.

“I’m coming, Miss Impatient!” Natasha called back, making you chuckle.

“Not impatient, only overexcited,” you admitted. “Wow, mom, you look gorgeous.” You grinned. “Wanda won’t be able to keep her eyes off you.”

“Ok, that’s enough of that,” she said, poking you in the arm and making you laugh. “No, y/n, please. You cannot wear sneakers to one of Tony’s galas.”

“But I like my sneakers.”

“No. Change your shoes.” Natasha raised an eyebrow when you glared at her. “And drop the attitude.”

“Yes mom,” you sighed, kicking your sneakers off and picking up the smart shoes your mom had bought you. “Doesn’t mean I’m dropping the attitude,” you said cheekily, dodging another poke from Natasha, who was looking at you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

“How on earth does Kate put up with you, hm?”

“Hey!” You protested, standing up, shoving your hands in your trouser pockets. “We get along just fine. She loves me anyway, she wouldn’t dare to tell me off.” You leant your head on your mom’s shoulder. “That’s your job.”

“Don’t I know it,” Natasha sighed, making you laugh.

There was a knock at the door and you raced to open it, squealing as you took in the sight of Kate in a short purple dress. Her hair was undone and fell in gentle waves over her shoulders. “You look delicious,” you whispered, leaning in and kissing her.

“Your mom’s right there,” she said, poking you and stepping inside.

“What is it with everyone poking me?!” You complained. Your eyes widened as you noticed Wanda in a deep red dress, her hair done in an elegant crown braid. “Hey, someone brushes up well,” you grinned.

“Hello to you too,” she said, pinching your cheek and heading to greet your mom.

***

Later that evening, as you danced around at Tony’s gala with Kate, who’d grabbed your hands and tugged you onto the dancefloor, you couldn’t have been happier. Your mom and Wanda were sitting next to each other at the bar, chatting and laughing to Steve, who was attempting to make cocktails. Natasha reached over and guided his hands, pointing out a bottle behind the bar, making him groan and Wanda laugh.

It had taken a few weeks, but your mom and Wanda were extremely happy together and you’d started calling Wanda ‘mom’ which made her face light up and Natasha look at you fondly. Kate came over regularly, spending evenings in your room while you studied and prepared for college. You’d decided to major in psychology with a minor in business and you were excited to start classes in the autumn.

“What’s on your mind, my love?” Kate said, pulling you in close as a slow song started playing.

“Just my family,” you said, looking over at Wanda and Natasha, “and my beautiful girlfriend,” you added, looking into Kate’s eyes and making her blush.

She kissed you softly, holding you close. “Hey, y/n. I love you.”

Your face lit up with a smile. It was the first time she’d said those words to you. “I love you too, Katie.”